Expression and Meaning in Bach Performance and Reception ...prominent Bach performers. Complete...

Expression and Meaning

in Bach Performance and Reception

An Examination of the B minor Mass on Record

Uri Golomb

King’s College, Cambridge

The Music Faculty

Cambridge University

This dissertation is submitted for the degree of Doctor of

Philosophy

July 2004

Abstract

This dissertation investigates developments in the performance of J. S. Bach’s music in the

second half of the 20th century, as reflected in recordings of the Mass in B Minor, BWV 232. It

places particular emphasis on issues relating to concepts of expression through performance.

Between the 1950s and the 1980s, most Bach performers shared a partial consensus as to

what constitutes expression in performance (e.g., intense sound; wide dynamic range; rubato).

Arguments against the application of such techniques to Bach’s works were often linked with the

view that his music is more “objective” than later repertoires; or, alternatively, that expressive

elements in Bach’s music are self-sufficient, and should be not be intensified in performance.

Historically-informed performance (HIP), from the late 1960s onwards, has been

characterised by greater attention to the inflection of local details (i.e., individual figures and

motifs). In terms of expressive intensity, this led to contradictory results. On the one hand, several

HIP performances were characterised by a narrow overall dynamic range, light textures, fast tempi

and few contrasts; these performances were often considered lightweight. On the other hand, HIP

also promoted renewed interest in the practical application of Baroque theories of musical

rhetoric, inspiring performances which projected varied intensity within movements.

More recently, traditional means of expression have enjoyed renewed prominence.

Ostensibly “romantic” features such as broad legati, long-range crescendi and diminuendi, and

organic shaping of movements as wholes have been increasingly adopted by HIP musicians.

In order to substantiate the narrative outlined above, the significance of the evidence

preserved in sound recordings had to be checked against other sources of information. This

dissertation is divided into two main parts. The first part focuses on specific “schools” of

prominent Bach performers. Complete recordings of the Mass are examined in relation to the

biographical and intellectual backgrounds of the main representatives of these schools, their

verbally-expressed views on Bach’s music and on their own role as performers, and their style as

documented in recordings of other works. The second part examines the performance history of

specific movements within the Mass, comparing the interpretations preserved in sound recordings

with relevant verbal analyses and commentaries.

The dissertation as a whole therefore combines the resources of reception and performance

studies. Beyond its specific historical conclusions concerning Bach performance in the post-war

era, it also provides specific insights into Bach’s music, its meaning and its role in contemporary

culture.

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Acknowledgements I wish to thank my supervisors, Prof. John Butt and Dr. Geoffrey Webber. John

Butt encouraged me in pursuing my research on Bach performance prior to my arrival

in Cambridge, and his knowledge, insights and criticism proved invaluable throughout

the process of research, writing and editing. I am particularly grateful to him for

continuing to act as my supervisor after he took up his post as Head of the Music

Department at Glasgow University. Geoffrey Webber took over as my supervisor in

Cambridge, providing valuable feedback and assistance in academic and

administrative issues alike.

My studies in Cambridge were partly financed by grants and scholarships from

the Cambridge Overseas Trust, Cambridge University, King’s College, and the British

Library. I would particularly like to mention the British Library’s Edison Fellowship.

This fellowship was created with the express purpose of facilitating research at the

British Library Sound Archive (BLSA). In addition to financial assistance, it allowed

me improved access to the Archive’s invaluable collection. I am grateful to Timothy

Day, the BLSA’s Curator of Western Art Music, and to his assistant, Jonathan

Summers, for alerting me to this fellowship, and for their generous help and

encouragement before, during and after my tenure as a visiting fellow.

In the course of my research, I had the privilege of interviewing Ton Koopman,

Andrew Parrott, Helmuth Rilling and Joshua Rifkin. I appreciate their generosity in

making time for the interviews and for re-examining and approving the quotes prior to

their inclusion in this dissertation.

I am indebted to Roland Wörner for valuable information and materials on Karl

Richter; to Stephen Leys, the Intendant of the Collegium Vocale, for information on

Philippe Herreweghe’s recordings of the Mass; to Prof. Lee Rothfarb (University of

California at Santa Barbara) for information on Eugen Thiele; and to Dr. Yo Tomita

(Belfast University) for allowing me to use his “Bach Musicological Font”

I am grateful to Dr. Dorit Tanay, Head of the Musicology Department at Tel-

Aviv University, for helping me to obtain a reader’s pass for the Tel-Aviv University

Library during 2002-2003; and to Aryeh Oron, convenor of www.bach-cantatas.com,

for giving me access to his extensive collection of Bach recordings.

http://www.bach-cantatas.com

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My research benefited enormously from continued communication with fellow-

scholars, my seniors and peers alike. I am particularly grateful to Dr. Kevin Bazzana,

Prof. Dalia Cohen, Dr. Dorottya Fabian, Rebecca Lloyd and Bernard Sherman, who

shared their own research with me and read early versions of many chapters in this

dissertation. Rebecca Lloyd also helped with the proof-reading process, as did Rivka

Shindler; I am grateful to both of them for their diligent and intelligent work.

I also received much valuable advice, feedback and information from several

other scholars and musicians, among them Richard Abram, Nicholas Baumgartner,

Prof. Eric Clarke, Prof. Judith Cohen, Prof. Nicholas Cook, Dr. Ian Cross, Dr. Martin

Elste, Dr. Martin Ennis, Bruce Haynes, Dr. Andrew Jones, Dr. Daniel Leech-

Wilkinson, Dr. Robert Philip, Erez Rapoport, Dr. Dorit Tanay and Eric Van Tassel.

My apologies to anyone whose name was inadvertently omitted from this list.

Above all, I wish to thank my parents, Dr. Abigail Golomb and Prof. Harai

Golomb, who introduced me both to Bach’s music and to the rigours of academic

thinking and writing. Without their love, support (in all senses), advice and

encouragement I would not have been able to complete this dissertation.

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Table of Contents Preface xv

1. Introduction 1

1.1. Intensity in Bach reception 3

1.1.1. Beardsley’s “Canons of Criticism” 3

1.1.2. Intensity and Balance 5

1.1.2.1. Balance as Equilibrium 5

1.1.2.2. Knife-edge Balance 8

1.2. Reception through performance 10

1.2.1. The interactionist approach to reception studies 10

1.2.2. The ideology and performance model 13

1.2.3. Recordings as documents of performative intention 15

1.2.4. Work, text and performance 17

1.2.5. Intensity and performance: The x/x matrix 25

1.3. The Mass as a case study 26

1.3.1. The Mass’s discography 26

1.3.2. “Intensity” and “Balance” in the Mass’s reception 27

1.4. The selection of case-studies 29

1.4.1. The selection of the core group for Part One 29

1.4.2. The selection of movements for Part Two 30

1.5. Methodology of listening 31

1.5.1. Listening and measurement 31

1.5.2. The choice of parameters 33

1.5.3. Objectivity and subjectivity 34

PART ONE: SCHOOLS AND APPROACHES 36

2. Romanticism in Bach Performance 36

2.1. The definition of romanticism 36

2.1.1. Romantic ideology 38

2.1.2. The technical side: Attributes of romanticism 40

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2.1.3. The mirror image: What romanticism is not 42

2.2. Romanticism in the Mass’s discography 45

2.2.1. Otto Klemperer: The objective “romanticist” 46

2.2.2. Eugen Jochum: Genuine romanticism? 49

2.3. Summary 50

3. Bach as Lutheran: Richter and Rilling 52

3.1. Karl Richter 53

3.1.1. Background: The Leipzig school 53

3.1.2. Richter’s premises 55

3.1.3. Richter’s practices 57

3.1.3.1. Tempo 58

3.1.3.2. Articulation 59

3.1.3.3. Clarity and timbre 59

3.1.3.4. Dynamics and hierarchy 60

3.1.3.5. The overall aesthetics: The “Über-persönlich” 61

3.1.4. Richter’s B minor Mass 62

3.1.4.1. Richter 1961 compared to other performances 63

3.1.4.2. Richter 1961 compared to Richter’s other recordings 66

3.1.5. Summary 67

3.2. Helmuth Rilling 68

3.2.1. Rilling’s premises 69

3.2.1.1. The Bach image 69

3.2.1.2. The role of performance practice research 70

3.2.1.3. Intensity in performance 71

3.2.2. Rilling’s practices 71

3.2.2.1. Articulation 72

3.2.2.2. Dynamics 73

3.2.2.3. Tempo 74

3.2.2.4. Size and constitution of performing ensembles 74

3.2.2.5. Summary 75

3.2.3. Rilling’s interpretations of the Mass 76

3.3. Summary 82

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4. Bach as Rhetorician: Harnoncourt and Herreweghe 84

4.1. The meanings of rhetoric 85

4.1.1. Rhetoric as speech 85

4.1.2. Rhetoric as semantics 87

4.1.2.1. Historical weaknesses of Figurenlehre theories 88

4.1.2.2. The links to performance and expression 88

4.1.2.3. The quest for historical permission 89

4.1.3. Rhetoric as structure 91

4.1.4. Rhetoric as ornament 91

4.1.5. Summary 91

4.2. Nikolaus Harnoncourt 92

4.2.1. Harnoncourt’s premises 92

4.2.1.1. The modernisation of early music 92

4.2.1.2. Harnoncourt’s theory of rhetoric 93

4.2.2. Harnoncourt’s practices 94

4.2.2.1. The evolution of Harnoncourt’s performance style 95

4.2.2.2. A comparison of Harnoncourt and Leonhardt 97

4.2.2.3. “Frontal assault” and “subtle discomfort” 99

4.2.3. Harnoncourt’s recordings of the Mass 100

4.2.3.1. The 1968 version 100

4.2.3.2. The 1986 version 102

4.3. Philippe Herreweghe 106

4.3.1. Herreweghe’s premises 106

4.3.1.1. Herreweghe’s theory of rhetoric 106

4.3.1.1.1. The importance of rhetoric 106

4.3.1.1.2. Rhetoric as structure, and the function of styles 107

4.3.1.2. Herreweghe’s theory of Bach performance 109

4.3.1.2.1. Cantabile and lyricism 109

4.3.1.2.2. The collective nature of Bach performance 110

4.3.1.3. Herreweghe’s Bach image: Balance-as-equilibrium 111

4.3.2. Herreweghe’s performance style 111

4.3.3. Herreweghe’s recordings of the Mass 113

4.4. Summary 117

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5. Bach as Musician: Rifkin, Parrott and Koopman 120

5.1. Premises 120

5.1.1. Bach image: Against the Fifth Evangelist 121

5.1.2. Performer’s image: The Material-Oriented approach 123

5.1.2.1. The performer’s role 123

5.1.2.2.The listener’s role 126

5.1.2.3. The ideal of perpetual revolution 127

5.1.3. The Bach Choir debate: Some comments 128

5.1.3.1. A brief historical survey 128

5.1.3.2. Bach’s intention 131

5.1.3.3. Greatness, monumentality and the congregational element 132

5.1.3.4. Bach’s place in history 133

5.1.3.5. Expressiveness 134

5.1.3.6. Summary 135

5.2. The recordings of the B minor Mass 137

5.2.1. Rifkin’s recording 137

5.2.2. Parrott’s recording 141

5.2.3. Koopman’s recording 143

5.3. Summary 146

6. “Neo-romantic” Performances 148

6.1. Introduction 148

6.2. Jeffrey Thomas 152

6.2.1. Premises 152

6.2.2. Thomas’s Mass 154

6.3. Thomas Hengelbrock 157

6.3.1. Premises 157

6.3.2. Hengelbrock’s Mass 159

6.4. Summary 161

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PART TWO: CASE STUDIES 163

7. Texture, Rhetoric and Shape: First Kyrie 163

7.1. Comments on Bach’s vocal fugues 163

7.1.1. Fugue and Bach’s image 163

7.1.2. Performative implications 166

7.2. First Kyrie: The shaping of the subject 167

7.2.1. Interpretations in theory 167

7.2.1.1. The limits of the subject 167

7.2.1.2.The character of the subject 168

7.2.2. Interpretations in practice 170

7.2.2.1. Smooth shaping 170

7.2.2.2. Statuesque readings 171

7.2.2.3. Lightweight readings 172

7.2.2.4. Rhetorical readings 173

7.2.2.5. Summary 179

7.3. The structure and shape of the fugue 179

7.3.1. Interpretations in theory 179

7.3.1.1. The movement’s structure 179

7.3.1.2. The movement’s shape 182

7.3.1.3. Performative implications 184

7.3.2. Interpretations in practice 185

7.3.2.1. Peak at R2 185

7.3.2.2. The arch and the monument 187

7.3.2.3. The “beautiful” and the “secular” 191

7.3.2.4. Undermining the monument 194

7.4. Summary 196

8. Archaism and Objectivity: Second Kyrie 198

8.1. Interpretations in theory 198

8.1.1. The Second Kyrie and the stile antico 198

8.1.2. Thematic materials and structural divisions 200

8.2. Interpretations in practice 203

8.2.1. Stile antico readings 203

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8.2.1.1. Monumental objectivism 203

8.2.1.2. Lyricism and contemplation 204

8.2.2. “Mixed” readings 206

8.2.2.1. Contrastive renditions 206

8.2.2.2. Continuous renditions 209

8.2.3. Dramatic readings 213

8.3. Summary 215

9. The Height of Intensity: Crucifixus 217

9.1. Interpretations in theory 217

9.1.1. Individual movements: Symbols of feeling and idea 217

9.1.1.1. Incarnatus 218

9.1.1.2. Crucifixus 219

9.1.1.3. Resurrexit 220

9.1.2. Relationship between movements: Continuity and contrast 221

9.2. Interpretations in practice 224

9.2.1. Pre-rhetoric: Architecture and unity 225

9.2.2. The influence of rhetoric 230

9.2.3. Neo-romanticism: Drama and creativity 238

9.3. Summary 242

10. Summary 244

10.1. Historical conclusions 244

10.2. Methodological conclusions 247

10.2.1. Premises and practices 247

10.2.2. Interpretation “in theory” and “in practice” 249

10.3. Ideas for further research 250

10.3.1. Further case studies within the Mass 251

10.3.1.1. The role of performance practice research 252

10.3.1.2. The choice of texts 252

10.3.1.3. The treatment of “secular” influences 253

10.3.1.4. Expressive contrasts (Confiteor) 254

10.3.1.5. Symbolism and expression (Et in unum) 254

10.3.2. Comparisons with other repertoire 255

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10.3.3. Performer’s intentions: Further sources 256

10.3.4. Objectivity, subjectivity and inter-subjectivity 256

Bibliography 258

Discography 297

Section 1: Recordings of the B minor Mass 297

Section 2: Recordings of other works 367

For chapter 2 367

For chapter 3 369

1. Leipzig Thomaskantors 369

2. Karl Richter 371

3. Helmuth Rilling 373

For chapter 4 376

1. Nikolaus Harnoncourt and Gustav Leonhardt 376

2. Philippe Herreweghe 380

3. Other recording cited 382

For chapter 5 382

1. Joshua Rifkin 382

2. Andrew Parrott 383

3. Ton Koopman 383

4. Other recordings cited 384

For chapter 6 385

1. Jeffrey Thomas 385

2. Thomas Hengelbrock 385

Audio Examples 386

CD 1: Examples for Part One 386

CD 2: Examples for chapter 7 387



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Timing Tables 391

Introductory Comments 391

Tables for chapter 2 392

Otto Klemperer 392

Eugen Jochum 394


Karl Richter 396

Helmuth Rilling 398


Nikolaus Harnoncourt 400

Philippe Herreweghe 402


Joshua Rifkin 404

Andrew Parrott, Ton Koopman 406

Table for chapter 6: Jeffrey Thomas, Thomas Hengelbrock 408

Table for chapter 7: First Kyrie 410

Table for chapter 8: Second Kyrie 414


Incarnatus 418

Crucifixus 422

Resurrexit 426

Alphabetical list of recordings of the B minor Mass 430

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Preface Since the subject matter of this dissertation is sound recordings, it includes a

comprehensive discography, in addition to the bibliography. The guidelines for

constructing bibliography and discography alike are explained in the introductory

comments to these sections. I also include four discs of audio examples, drawn from

several of the recordings I discuss. These discs were prepared by Eyal Tsalyuk at the

Classical Studio, Herzliyya, Israel.

The music examples were prepared using the music notation program “Capella

2002”; I am grateful to Dr. David Halperin for his help and advice in using this

program. Within these examples, normal slurs correspond to the original text (I relied,

for this purpose, on facsimiles of the original source materials and on Christoph

Wolff’s edition). Broken slurs indicate slurs that I added to the score, to delineate

legato groupings in the relevant recording. All other dynamic and articulation

symbols are my own additions, serving the same purpose. “>” designates an accented

note; “_”, an un-accented note; “^”, a strong accent.

In quotations in the main text, italics indicate emphases that are part of the

original quotation; bold indicates my own added emphases.

My interviews with Ton Koopman, Andrew Parrott, Joshua Rifkin and Helmuth

Rilling were all taped and transcribed, and these transcripts are the basis of the

quotations that appear in this dissertation. I have, however, edited these quotes to

ensure clarity and fluency, and to reflect corrections suggested by the interviewees,

who approved the quotes prior to their inclusion in the dissertation.

This dissertation is the result of my own work and includes nothing which is the

outcome of work done in collaboration except where specifically indicated in the text.

The main text of the dissertation does not exceed the word limit set by the Music

Degree Committee. The bibliography and discography were exempt from the word

count by the Board of Graduate Studies.

Uri Golomb July 2004

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1. Introduction The experience of music is inseparable from performance. Setting aside the

vexed philosophical issue of music’s ontology, it is clear that most listeners’

perceptions of music’s structure and emotional ambience are highly dependent on

how the music is shaped in performance. Our views of a particular piece’s meaning –

or indeed of its very identity – are likely to change through familiarity with different

performative realisations of the notation.1 Thus, some aspects of the music’s shape,

structure and meaning cannot be studied without reference to the music’s ever-

changing realisation in performance.

In the past, such an examination was virtually impossible: the sounds of a

musical performance vanished into thin air after the last note had been struck, and

were not available for further examination. With the advent of recording, however,

some performances acquired a durable, accessible record, which could be examined

repeatedly and in detail, like a musical score. Musicology has been relatively slow in

realising the new medium’s potentials (Day 2000: 228-231; Leech-Wilkinson 2001:

2-3; Philip 2004: 1-3). In recent years, however – at least since the publication of

Robert Philip’s Early Recordings and Musical Style (1992) – the field of performance

studies has been flourishing.

My dissertation is part of this ongoing project of examining how “expression,

emotion, style and ideology” are “variously specified in [the] sound” (Clarke 2002b:

193) of musical performance, as preserved in recordings. At the same time, it is also

part of the study of Bach’s music and its reception. I aim to examine how perceptions

of Bach’s music, as well as ideologies on the role of the performer vis-à-vis the

musical work, are interlinked with the choices of performing musicians.

These issues will be discussed primarily in the context of specific debates about

Bach’s music and its performative realisation. In particular, I aim to explore them by

suggesting the outlines of a “hermeneutic history” (Bowen 1999: 446) of one work –

Bach’s Mass in B minor, BWV 232 – through the investigation of most available

1 In this dissertation, the word “performative” means “in, of, or through musical performance” (see also Levinson 1993).

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recordings,2 demonstrating how this work has been shaped and defined over a period

of about 50 years,3 and seeking to place these changes in the context of major trends

in the work’s reception (and Bach reception generally), as well as debates on fidelity,

authenticity and historicism in performance. This involves a comparison between the

evidence preserved in sound recordings and other sources of information about the

work’s reception, and about specific performers’ views and aesthetics.

For this purpose, I focus on a relatively small “Core Group” (see 1.4.1, pp. 29f

below). In Part One of this dissertation, I will examine these musicians’ recordings of

the B minor Mass against their biographical background, their views on Bach’s music

and its performance, and their recordings of Bach’s other vocal works, in order to

determine the extent to which their recordings of the Mass are representative of their

general approach to Bach. In Part Two, I propose a different type of case-study –

focusing on the hermeneutic history of three movements in the Mass (see 1.4.2, pp.

30f below). Here, the focus is on the specific meanings and interpretations attached to

particular movements.

The main advantage in employing a limited number of case-studies is that it

allows one to investigate them in greater depth and detail then would be possible with

a larger selection of movements or musicians. Nonetheless, my selection of case

studies has limited my coverage of the myriad issues that could be addressed under

the heading of “Expression and meaning in Bach performance and reception”. Some

of the omissions and gaps are discussed towards the end of this dissertation (see pp.

250ff below). In particular, my analyses in Part One, and the choice of case-studies

for Part Two, were informed by an association of the concept of expression with

emotional intensity, and the examination of the tension, within Bach reception,

between intensity and complexity.

2 My survey covers all complete commercial recordings of the Mass available at the British Library Sound Archive, supplemented by my personal collection. These resources, however, did not allow access to the work’s complete history on record (see Discography). 3 Most recordings of the Mass date from 1950-2000; see 1.3.1, pp. 26f below.

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1.1. Intensity in Bach reception My study focuses on issues surrounding performative expression: the attribution

of emotional expression and/or extra-musical meaning to Bach’s music in general, as

well as to particular piece, and the degree and manner in which performers seek to

bring these to light. In this context, the word “meaning” can have at least two senses:

1. “Meaning” as “significance”: the lasting importance of Bach’s music, its role

in the Western musical canon and in the musical culture of specific writers and

performers;

2. “Meaning” as “signification” or “interpretation”: the specific attempts to

analyse and decipher the musical or extra-musical message of a particular

work, movement or phrase.4

The concept of musical expression plays a complex role in this context. There is

a prominent tendency in Bach reception to separate “meaning” (in the second sense)

from emotional expression – as typified in Arnold Schering’s distinction of “symbols

of feeling” from “symbols of ideas” (see pp. 88f below) – and to argue that the value

of Bach’s music (its meaning in the first sense) lies precisely in its avoidance of

expressive intensity. Yet there also exists a diametrically opposed strand, which views

the expressive power of Bach’s music as its greatest strength.

The spectrum of views between these two extremes, and the tension between

them, is central to my dissertation. While I do not claim that such a focus exhausts all

the issues relating to expression and meaning in Bach, it does encompass some of the

most central ones, and opens a window to Bach’s significance in the musical canon.

1.1.1. Beardsley’s “Canons of Criticism”

In his magisterial study of aesthetics, Monroe Beardsley argued that most

“critical reasons” – arguments raised by critics in justifying their value judgement of

artworks – can be classified, “with very little trouble”, into three Canons of Criticism: First, there are reasons that seem to bear upon the degree of unity or disunity of the work [...] Second, there are those reasons that seem to bear upon the degree of complexity or simplicity of the work [...] Third, there are those reasons that

4 The two senses are not unrelated: for example, those who perceive the evocation and expression of Christianity as one of the primary justifications for the canonisation of Bach’s music will naturally focus their interpretations of specific works (especially sacred works) on their (ostensibly) Christian message.

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seem to bear upon the intensity or lack of intensity of human regional qualities in the work.5 (Beardsley 1981: 462)

None of these three Canons has been consistently upheld as a virtue throughout

the history of art criticism.6 I believe, however, that they are useful for classifying and

understanding aesthetic systems; and they are specifically valuable in understanding

Bach reception, especially in the late 19th and 20th centuries. With the exception of

direct references to Bach’s religious fervour, almost all positive references to his

music can be understood as appreciation of its Complexity, Unity or Intensity, either

in isolation or in combination.

In this dissertation, I focus primarily on the issue of Intensity. In aesthetics of

music, this is a particularly controversial issue, given the persistent debates on

whether music can or should express human emotions, or convey meaning beyond

itself. One prominent position is that Intensity is intrinsic to music, and should not be

confused with extra-musical signification (e.g., Meyer 1956: 1-3; Beardsley 1981:

328-332; Davies 1994: 181-182; Treitler 1997: 31-32; Scruton 1997: 170). Adherents

of this position often insist on the centrality of structural articulation of expression

(Meyer 1956: 5-6 and passim; Treitler 1997: 49-53; Scruton 1997: 156-157, 170): in

their view, Intensity emerges cumulatively through the musical structure, rather than

being represented or created by specific, localised musical symbols.

Meyer defines the above position as Absolute Expressionism (1956: 2-3),7

distinct both from Referentialist Expressionism (the view that musical Intensity points

to the extra-musical) and Absolute Formalism (the view that music has no emotional

content or impact). He ignores the possibility of Referentialist Formalism: the view

that music can make explicit references to the extra-musical, whilst having little or no

expressive import. This latter view is also prominent in Bach reception.

5 Beardsley defines “regional quality” as “a property, or characteristic, that belongs to a complex but not to any of its parts” (1981: 83). “Human regional qualities” are defined as “regional qualities that are similar to qualities of human behavior, especially to mental states and processes” (ibid: 328). 6 Beardsley’s assumption to the contrary reveals both the prescriptive nature of his enterprise and its narrow historical scope: his book mostly relies on late 19th- and 20th-century critics (up to 1957, when its first edition was published). For a critique of Unity as a self-evident virtue in music – and particularly of the quest for unity as a primary aim in musical analysis – see Street 1989 and Maus 1999 (however, see also Morgan 2003 for a response to these and similar critiques). Scheibe’s attack on Bach could be read as expressing scepticism concerning the value of Complexity; see also Yearsley 2002: 52-56, 91-96, and passim. Scepticism towards the value of Intensity is a prominent strand in Bach reception, as discussed throughout this dissertation. 7 For a detailed exploration of an Absolute Expressionist position, see Beardsley 1981: 325-352; see also Burnham 1999: 212-216, Cook and Dibben 2001: 49.

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1.1.2. Intensity and Balance

The word “balance” has [several] meanings [...] One meaning has to do with equilibrium; we say somebody has a well-balanced personality, for instance. Another invokes the idea of “delicately poised”; we say a situation is balanced on a knife’s edge. In the first image, “balanced” means “stable”; in the second it means “unstable.” (Cohen and Stewart 2000: 245)

Balance is not one of Beardsley’s Canons of Criticism; but implicitly, it acts as

a Meta-Canon. Beardsley’s theory suggests that a work’s value depends on a proper

balance between the three Canons; one should not be allowed to overwhelm the

others.

Both definitions of “Balance” above are consistent with Beardsley’s model. In

the former, more conventional definition, any conflicts and contradictions between the

demands of the three Canons have been resolved. In the second, the struggle is closer

to the surface. Unity is more dominant in the first type, while Intensity is more

dominant in the second; yet in both cases, they maintain some degree of co-existence

(cf. Kivy 1995: 162-171).

1.1.2.1. Balance as Equilibrium

The word “balance” occurs only occasionally in verbal discourse on Bach; but

the concept of “balance” pervades many discussions of his music. In this context, I

use the concept of “Balance-as-equilibrium” to refer to the assumption that Bach kept

Intensity under strict control, and regarded it as secondary and subservient to the more

inherently balanced qualities of Unity and Complexity.

This view’s prominence reflects a partial convergence of two contrasting images

of Bach, both inherited from the 19th century: the image of Bach as a predominantly

religious composer, and the image of Bach the Mathematician, the Abstract

Composer. This convergence reflects a particular reading of the “Fifth Evangelist”

image, associating sacrality with severity. This association is by no means self-

evident. In her article on “Erbarme dich”, Naomi Cumming tells the following

revealing anecdote:

A Serbian-Orthodox deacon [...] heard the recitative and aria for the first time on CD. His response was disarmingly intense, as emotion seemed to fight with religious expectancy. An involuntary engagement disorientated him, in the expectations of his more ascetical tradition: ‘This music cannot be used for liturgy. It disturbs the inner peace!’ (Cumming 1997: 40)

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The notion that Bach aimed at the disruption of “inner peace” is represented in

several 19th- and early 20th-centuries readings of his music, including religiously-

oriented readings like Bitter’s, Spitta’s and Schweitzer’s. Much modern Bach

reception, however, is predicated on the assumption that his music is inherently

peaceful; this includes several 20th-century Lutheran readings, from Besch (1938)

onwards (see also pp. 53ff below).

The partial convergence of the Fifth Evangelist and the Mathematician images

is demonstrated by writers like Karl Geiringer, who viewed Bach both as “a deeply

religious composer” (1966: 134), and as the possessor of “profound intellectualism”

(ibid: 135). Geiringer values Intensity in Bach’s mature music insofar as it is kept in

proper balance with Complexity and Unity (see also Bukofzer 1948: 260-305).8 He

also cites Intensity as the saving grace in early experimental works (pre-1708), written

when Bach’s “technical immaturity” prevented him from achieving consistent levels

of Unity and Complexity (Geiringer 1966: 136; see also M. Geck 1970: 566).

Lutheran images tend to be associated with Referentialist Formalism; more

“universalised” views usually veer towards Absolute Expressionism, although many

of them continue to marginalize Intensity. Thus, for Stephen Davies (1994: 270, 353-

354), Bach’s oeuvre represents an archetypal example for music that has so many

other strengths that its Intensity can be treated almost as a “bonus”. Douglas

Hofstadter (1979: 719) mentions, almost in passing, that Bach’s music contains

“beauty and extreme depth of emotion”, but values it primarily as “an intellectual

construction which reminds me, in many ways I cannot express, of the beautiful

many-voiced fugues of the human mind”. Jordi Savall (2001) alludes, like Hofstadter,

to Bach’s technical proficiency, extraordinary complexity and intellectual originality.

Yet for him, Bach’s most significant attribute is that he achieved this fusion of

Complexity and Unity without “sacrificing the expressive quality and musical

eloquence which, even in his most elaborate and complex passages, provide the

unbroken thread of Bach’s musical discourse”.

Savall’s perspective is similar to Vetter’s (1951), who emphasises Intensity as a

central factor in Bach’s Universality. Marshall, in his own “On Bach’s Universality”,

8 Geiringer does not apply these terms in a consistent manner. Here, and elsewhere, I use Beardsley’s categories in the same manner that he used them: as an economic way to summarise various writers’ views. I use the terms balance-as-equilibrium and knife-edge-balance, and designations derived from my x/x matrix (see 1.2.5, pp. 25f below) in a similar manner.

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associates Bach’s “universal validity” (1989: 71) with Unity: the reconciliation of

counterpoint and harmony, and of the various national and historical styles at his

disposal (ibid: 73-74). Yet his image goes even beyond this, referring to Bach’s

production of a musical equivalent of “unified field theory” (ibid: 73).

The Marshall-Hofstadter image of Bach as a musical Pythagoras, revealing the

mathematical (and mystical) secrets of the world and the mind through his music,

might be traceable to Bach’s lifetime (for example, in Birnbaum’s reference to Bach’s

perfection of nature in his 1738 response to Scheibe; Wolff 1998a: 345); it becomes

prominent in the early 19th century (Blume 1950b: 40-48; Dahlhaus 1978: 193-194,

200-202). In 19th- and 20th-century manifestations alike, it is associated primarily with

Bach’s musical “treatises”; images drawn from pantheism, mathematics and science

can be more easily attached to Die Kunst der Fuge than to the cantatas or passions,

which are linked, through their texts, with specific ideas and emotions.

These balance-as-equilibrium views often inspire performative restraint. As I

note in Chapters 2 and 3, many Bach performances, especially in 1950-1980, display

the convergence of traits inherited from Neue Sachlichkeit on the one hand, and

Lutheran ideology on the other. The resulting style places an emphasis on

performative clarity (to expose Complexity)9 and Unity. Intensity, when present, is

kept under control, its potential to intrude upon other elements severely restricted. The

ideal of clarity extends, not only to textures, but also to rhythm, dynamics and form.

Voices are to be clearly separable from one another; so are beats in the bar, and

sections in a movement. Glenn Gould’s view that “Bach was a director who thought

in terms of cuts rather than dissolves” (1984: 22) is a particularly succinct rendering

of this ideal.

The resulting performances could often be described, paradoxically, as both

“sublime” and “mechanical”. The basic parameters – large performing forces, loud

dynamics, intense sonority, harsh articulation – project a monumental, larger-than-life

image.10 Yet there is something mechanical about the uniformity with which these

9 This relates to a specifically musical sense of the word “balance”: the relationship between various sound sources in the overall sound picture. A well-balanced performance of a contrapuntal piece would be one in which the various strands are audible, and one strand is not allowed to dominate over another. 10 They are also in keeping with Burke’s original formulation of the “sublime” as “vast”, “rugged”, “solid [...] even massive” etc. (A Philosophical Enquiry into the Sublime and Beautiful [1759], Part III, section XXVII; Burke 1998: 157). However, one Burkean criterion for sublimity – “obscurity” – is less frequently sought by these Bach performers.

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parameters are applied (metronomic rigidity, strict terraced dynamics). Musical ebb-

and-flow is not strongly projected, and at times actively stultified. As the ultimate

representation of Order, the evocation of ostensibly timeless truths, Bach’s music is; it

does not flow.

This performance aesthetics fits both the image of the severely religious

Lutheran and that of the musical mathematician. The harsher aspects of the sublime-

mechanical style might not evoke calm and inner peace; but the style does not allow

room for struggle within the music. The performers’ struggle to “get it right” might

be felt, and the resulting performance might be demanding for the listeners; but it does

not encourage listeners to think that elements within the music are in mutual conflict.

“Symphonic” conductors (i.e., conductors who performed Bach alongside the

standard symphonic and operatic repertoire; see chapter 2) usually adopted a more

flexible approach within the balance-as-equilibrium conception, projecting a stronger

sense of direction and shape. But even at their most dramatic, their interpretations

often conveyed a sense of clarity and inevitability – a powerful, unquestioned

progression towards a definite climax.

There have also been, in verbal and performative reception alike, more genial

views within the balance-as-equilibrium paradigm. In particular, historically-informed

performance (hence HIP) – which often promoted lighter textures, more varied

articulation and increased awareness of Bach’s stylistic diversity – has contributed to

more genial, less mechanical performances (see chapter 5).

Implicit in nearly all these images is the idea that Bach’s music not only

embodies or expresses equilibrium, but also arouses it in listeners. However, such

perfected images can also seem alienating. Paul Henry Lang, for example, argued that

Bach’s “Olympian grandeur”, his apparent “infallibility” and “self-sufficiency”,

places him beyond the grasp of modern listeners, who “do not enjoy a wondrous

security not disturbed by external things and events” (1997: 68-69). Doubts of this

kind encouraged efforts to present more humanised, less perfected Bach images.

1.1.2.2. Knife-edge Balance

Lang’s 1950 essay “Bach: Artist and Poet” (quoted above) challenges the image

of Bach as “the embodiment of greatness in art, beyond reproach and beyond

criticism” (1997: 68), but ultimately lays the blame at Bach’s door: to Lang, Bach’s

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music genuinely embodies these qualities, and this makes it difficult for modern

listeners to identify with it. Theodor Adorno, on the other hand, argues that balance-

as-equilibrium views distort Bach’s deliberately equivocal message. He attacks those

who seek in Bach’s music a representation of “the order of Being as such”, as well as

those who seek to turn him into “the very church composer against whose office his

music rebelled” (1967: 135-136). In his view, both images neglect – even repress –

the subjective element in Bach’s music – in other words, his Intensity.

Adorno’s article is sometimes cited – and not without justification – as a lone

voice in the wilderness, ignored by previous and subsequent writers alike (McClary

1987: 13-14; Chafe 1991: 1-3; Dreyfus 1996: 221-222). However, he was not alone in

celebrating Bach’s ambiguity and disunity. As I noted on p. 6 above, the subjective

element plays a distinctive role in 19th- and early 20th-century Bach-as-Lutheran

conceptions (see also Dahlhaus 1983a: 60-61, and pp. 164ff below). Of these,

Schweitzer’s approaches a knife-edge conception – at times going beyond “balance”

altogether. In trying to demonstrate the centrality of the pictorial element in Bach’s

music, Schweitzer speaks of “recurring singularities, inner affinities [...] inexplicable

bizarreries”, elements which a sensitive musician will find inexplicable [...] until he guesses that this music is not self-existent, but has sprung from some external force, that will not obey the laws of harmonious thematic structure. (1911, II: 5-6; see also ibid: 31)

On the whole, however, knife-edge-balance readings of Bach have become

more prominent in recent years. Laurence Dreyfus, for example, provides a detailed

analytic argument against the view that Bach’s music epitomises perfection and

inevitability. Dreyfus argues that Bach’s “struggles with the materiality of

composition leave their residue in the composition itself” (1996: 188). The resulting

imperfections are intrinsic to the music’s value; its power arises “not so much from

synthesis but rather from creative solecisms and improprieties” (1997: 191).

The wish to present a less monumental, more humanised Bach image is not

unique to the knife-edge approach. Paul Hindemith, for example, sought to take Bach

off the pedestal (1952: 12 and passim) while retaining the Abstract-Mathematical

view. His Bach image is distinctly human only insofar as it views Bach’s music as an

equivalent to the greatest scientific discoveries (ibid: 36, 43-44), and avoids its

association with religious fervour or divine revelation. However, in his quest to make

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Bach’s music valid and attractive for all humanity, Hindemith leaves little room for

perceiving struggle within the music as a finished product.

Richard Taruskin represents the other extreme, suggesting that Bach’s message

is distinctly non-universal and non-balanced: “that the world is filth and horror, that

humans are helpless, that life is pain, that reason is a snare” (1995: 310). This view is,

however, an exception. Most knife-edge-balance readings of Bach’s music raise the

importance of Intensity, but do not deny the centrality of Complexity and Unity. Some

of them argue that Bach’s music presents a complicity of Complexity and Intensity:

the former generates internal struggles which contribute to the latter.

At least one advocate of the knife-edge-balance approach perceived clear

performative implications for it:

the performer has to be aware of the faultlines in the pieces (that is, how to identify the various components, to be able to render them so as to make their individual qualities of motion heard), and then appear to transcend them by sheer force of will and ingenuity. (McClary 1987: 61)

Performances which (arguably) realise the spirit of McClary’s recommendations

date mostly from the 1980s and 1990s (see also ibid: 61n), and will be discussed in

chapters 4 and 6. The hallmarks of this style are reduced clarity and heightened

tension (see p. 98 below). In particular, these readings project the aforementioned

complicity between Complexity and Intensity: they provide independent contours to

simultaneously-present textural strands, thematic materials and style signifiers,

leading them, on occasion, to clash with each other.

1.2. Reception through performance

1.2.1. The interactionist approach to reception studies

The survey above touches upon some of the many contradictory responses to

Bach’s music; more specific contradictions will be revealed in the course of this

dissertation. Such contradictions led some researchers in reception studies to the

“resigned conviction” that “an esthetic judgment reveals more about the person who

judges than about the matter judged and its content” (Dahlhaus 1982: 86). Too often,

no attempt is made to explain how such different reactions could arise in response to

what is, ostensibly, the same musical stimulus; this fact is simply stated, and

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explanations for varied responses are sought outside the music, in the authors’

cultural-social environments.11

Part of the answer is that it is not exactly the same stimulus: authors in different

times and places did not possess the same editions, and did not hear the same

performances. Verbal discourse on music is bound to be influenced by what the

writers hear; and it is the performers who determine the music’s sound, timing and

intensity patterns. Their shaping of the music, in turn, partly reflects on their prior

conception, influenced both by previous performances they have heard or taken part

in, and by ideas they have read or heard.

Differing performative interpretations, then, present changes in reception even

more vividly than verbal discourse. However, rather than interpreting differences in

performance as further proof of the incommensurability of aesthetic judgements (cf.

Everist 1999: 389-390), the study of performance could be used as part of an

“interactionist” approach to reception studies. As Scott Burnham notes, Listening to music is a two-way street, regardless of the efforts of various factions of musical academia to legislate one-way traffic, either from an absolute and self-sufficient musical work to the listener or from the relative situatedness of the listener to a decentralized musical work. [...] if we define musical values as those things that we as listeners have come to value in the music, we keep the idea of a two-way interaction open while allowing ourselves to address musical issues. (Burnham 1995: 29)

In this view, reception studies cannot account for differing reactions to ostensibly

identical musical stimuli solely through an examination of the recipients: it is equally

important to ask what factors in the music (as implied sound in scores, or realised

sound in performance) could generate these responses.12

Performers are an ideal case-study of music reception as a two-way street, as

they are both recipients (of the notation and its performance traditions alike) and

producers. An assessment of their contribution to the music’s reception and meaning

demands a close reading of the score and its performative realisations, since they

communicate their interpretation by shaping and modifying the sounds as encoded

and implied by the notation.

Such analysis must, of course, assume at least a partial correspondence between

verbal discourse and musical performance. Bethany Lowe (2000: 7-8 and passim)

11 For examples of such methodology, see Wallace 1986, Knittel 1995, DeNora 1995, Everist 1999. 12 For examples of this approach, see Cook 1993: 65-104; Burnham 1995, 1999.

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proposes a three-way distinction, in which Interpretation can be realised either in

verbal Analysis or in Performance. In this dissertation, I will contrast interpretation

“in theory” (verbal discourse) with interpretation “in practice” (performance).13

Verbal and performative discourse are not entirely commensurable. Verbal

reception must treat music, to some extent, metaphorically. It can also take liberties

with music’s temporal nature – for example, by discussing adjacently two passages

that in performance would be separated by long stretches of intervening material

(Clarke 1995: 25; Cook 1998: 72). Performers, on the other hand, must present their

ideas in real time and actual sound (see also 7.3.1.2, pp. 182ff below).

Perfect translation from verbal to performative discourse is therefore not

feasible; nor do most musicians find it desirable. There have been attempts to construe

analyses as directions for performance (e.g., Cone 1968, Berry 1989), or to interpret

performances as containing implicit analyses (e.g., articles by Cook, Lester, Epstein

and Rothstein in Rink 1995a). The philosopher Jerrold Levinson has questioned “the

idea that there is such a thing as ‘implicit explanation’” in performance (1993: 37n).

However, rather than ruling out the viability of performance analysis, he cautions that: When we hear a striking PI [Performative Interpretation] of a familiar piece, the question we put to ourselves as interpreters of such interpretations should be not, ‘what CI [Critical Interpretation] does that PI embody or convey?’ [...] but instead ‘What CIs might such a PI support or reflect?’ An insightful PI might prompt one to arrive at a new CI, or allow one to confirm the validity of a CI already proposed, or induce one to question a CI regarded as authoritative, and so on, but it cannot itself unambiguously communicate a CI. (ibid: 57; cf. Cook 1999b: 48-49; Bowen 1999: 446-451; Butt 2002a: 88)

The opposite claim is equally valid: a CI might be compatible with a PI – but

“cannot itself unambiguously communicate” a PI. This is true even of attempts to give

detailed accounts of PIs in writing – such as the detailed performance analyses in

Philip 1992, Bazzana 1997, Fabian 2003 and this dissertation. As a writer, I have to

engage with performance in a verbal medium: I might be discussing interpretations

“in practice”, but the result is an interpretation “in theory”. Such writings could not be

used for exact replication of the performance they purport to describe. This also

applies to a slightly different sort of CI – namely, research into performance practice.

13 Lowe’s terminology is aimed at avoiding the common discourse which regards performance as a realisation of analysis. Her solution, however, privileges analysis over other types of verbal reception. Both her solution and mine, as well as others that have been proposed, neglect a third type of interpretation – the editor’s.

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While this research strives towards formulating guidelines for PIs, it cannot prescribe

a specific PI in all its details.

1.2.2. The ideology and performance model

In attempting to trace the relationships between Critical and Performative

Interpretations, this dissertation will follow an “ideology and performance” or

“premises and practices” model.14 In Part One, I will examine the relationships

between performers’ “premises” (their views on Bach’s music and on their own role

as performers) and their “practices” (their performance style, especially in Bach’s

music, as documented in their recordings). In Part Two, I will contrast directly the two

types of discourse – verbal and performative – as they are brought to bear on specific

movements in the Mass: a survey of the movement’s verbal reception will provide an

introduction to a detailed study of its reception through recorded performance.

In both cases, evidence for the performers’ intention, and its correlation with

their actual performance, will be cited where available. However, distinct correlations

between verbal and performative discourse (or between different performances) will

be pointed out even if no direct connection is evident between writer and performer

(or two performers): the fact that two people independently converged on a similar

view is likely to be significant.15

Analogies between performances can often be attributed to stylistic connections

– a clear illustration being, for example, the similarities between several “symphonic”

readings of the First Kyrie (see p. 189 below). The partial resemblance, especially in

terms of the movement’s overall shaping, between these performances and several

recent HIP versions (see pp. 193f below) cannot be accounted for in a similar manner,

but the influence of the symphonic style – and of some of the ideas connected with it,

such as the quest for “organic” or “architectonic” shaping for large-scale movements

– might still have played a part. It is likely that the musicians responsible for the later

performances were acquainted with the older approach (through attending concerts,

hearing recordings, or even taking part in performances), but one need not postulate

the direct influence of a specific performance or performer.

14 The terms “premises” and “practices” are derived from Bazzana’s Gould monograph (1997). This book is divided into two parts, the first examining Gould’s views on aesthetics and performance, the second examining his performance style in light of these “premises”. 15 For an example of convergence between different writers, see pp. 163ff below.

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Relationships between verbal and performative reception are even harder to

establish. Even when a CI has specific implications for performance, the realisation of

these implications in a particular PI does not necessarily imply that the performing

musician is attempting to communicate the message conveyed by the CI. Even when

the CI and PI can be safely attributed to the same musician, the exact correlation and

causation are not easy to establish. It is always possible that the performer’s words

might represent a post-hoc justification for performative choices, rather than

representing (at least in part) the thought processes that shaped the performance. In

other cases, the performer’s words and the musical choices documented in the

recording are difficult to reconcile with each other.16

Even if a correlation has been established (that is, if readers are convinced that

the CI under discussion has specific performative implications, and that these are

indeed realised in the PI under discussion), the implications of such correlations are

not obvious. One cannot always assume that the performer was familiar with the

analysis (or vice versa). As with the comparison between performances, a similarity

between a performance and an analysis might point to convergence – two musicians

arriving independently at a similar view of how the music should be understood or

performed. This convergence might sometimes emerge despite provable differences

between the musicians involved (whether in their geographical or chronological

backgrounds, or in their general views of Bach’s music, its meaning and/or its

performative realisation).

In the course of this dissertation, I will be making several comparisons between

commentators’ explicit views of Bach’s music and the views implicit in some

performances (connected, in some cases, with views explicitly expressed by the

performing musicians). I will point to such concordances even when, to the best of my

knowledge, no direct connections between commentators and musicians can be

proven. Some of these will be re-visited in the final chapter (see pp. 249ff below),

where I will discuss both the dangers of staking such claims and their possible

significance for the study of Bach performance and reception.

16 Such apparent contradictions are discussed in several cases in this dissertation, and the topic is addressed again more broadly in pp. 247ff below.

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1.2.3. Recordings as documents of performative intention

An additional problem in correlating CIs and PIs involves the assumption that a

recording documents the performers’ considered interpretation of a work (at least at

the time of the recording). Given the way recordings are usually shaped – with

multiple takes edited together after the fact, not necessarily by the performers

themselves17 – there is always a danger that the final product, as preserved in the

sound recording, does not entirely reflect the performers’ own preferred performative

interpretation.18 In the context of studio recordings, it is difficult to assess the

performers’ contribution, beyond supplying the raw materials from which the

recording was constructed. Unedited live recordings might circumvent the problem of

editorial interference (though even here the influence of the balance engineer is by no

means negligible), but inevitably reflect the accidental features of a particular

evening.19 Only when the performers were intimately involved in the recording and

editing process can the recording be safely described as reflecting their interpretation

at the time. These issues exacerbate a problem which plagues any attempt to interpret

a choral-orchestral performance: the role of the conductor vis-à-vis the other

musicians (see also p. 29 below).

In some contexts, this problem can be circumvented: as long as the argument

does not strongly rely on attributing the interpretation preserved in the recording to

the musicians, the recording might be treated “as is” (cf. Johnson 1999: 198). Thus, it

makes little difference whether the structural cohesiveness I ascribe to the shaping of

the First Kyrie in René Jacobs’s recordings (see p. 193 below) arises from the

17 Technological advances, especially since the advent of digital recording and editing, also enable producers to alter the recorded sounds (modifying balance, reverberation, pitches, note-lengths, etc.). 18 For particularly vivid descriptions of the mechanics of a recording session, see Monsaingeon 2002, part 2 (including scripted mock-recording-and-editing sessions by Glenn Gould), Tomes 2004: 140-150, 155-159, and Andrew Keener, in Philip 2004: 54-56, 58. For one illustration of how an edited version of a recording might misrepresent the performer’s interpretation, see Malcolm Bilson in Sherman 1997: 309. For more general discussions of recording techniques and their effect on performance style, and of the production team’s influence on the recording as a finished product, see Gould 1984: 331-368 (esp. 337-343); Day 2000: Chapter One, esp. 23-38, 46-52; Philip 2004: Chapter Two, esp. 42-62. 19 Many recordings described as “live” are actually edited together from several live concerts, supplemented by patching sessions, rather than truly documenting a particular concert performance. Of the recording of the Mass I heard, the only unedited live ones are, to the best of my knowledge, Richter 1969a, Giulini 1974 and Biller 2000. In other live recordings (e.g., Giulini 1994, Abbado 1999), the accompanying documentation specifically refers to several recording dates. In several cases (e.g., Brüggen 1989), the documentation is ambiguous in this respect.

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musicians’ planned interpretation or from the record producer’s choice of takes. In

this particular case, the aim is to exemplify one option of shaping this movement, and

no interpretive-historical significance is attached to the identity of the musicians

responsible. Therefore, the important question is whether my analysis convincingly

reflects the interpretation as documented in the recording.

On the other hand, questions of attribution do affect my claims regarding the

lack of overall shaping in some of Herreweghe’s performances (cf. pp. 112f and p.

192 below). Since I partly relate this aspect to Herreweghe’s general approach to

interpretation (cf. pp. 109ff below), it should be mentioned that the lack of cohesion

might be the result of editing, rather than conductorial intention. The fact that

Herreweghe claims to have taken an active part in the editing process is important, but

not necessarily decisive.

Obtaining precise information on the dynamics of recording sessions is not an

easy task, especially as record companies do not always retain producers’ notes

(Richard Abram, personal communications) and are not always willing to disclose

them (cf. Day 2000: 247). Changes of ownership in several companies further

complicate matters.

Through personal communications – mostly with the conductors – I have

ascertained that several conductors in my Part One core-group (Helmuth Rilling,

Philippe Herreweghe, Joshua Rifkin, Andrew Parrott, Ton Koopman and Jeffrey

Thomas) are willing to accept their recordings as faithful representations of their

views at the time. My working assumption for other performances was that, for the

most part, the recordings document the interpretation that these musicians were likely

to give in concerts around the period of the recording.

Further research could and should be done on the roles of musicians and

production teams in creating the final result heard by the listeners. The fact remains,

in any case, that recordings provide the best documentation for musical performances;

however imperfect that documentation might be, there is no credible alternative for it.

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1.2.4. Work, text and performance

The underlying assumption in much performance-analysis discourse is that

performers, whether in concerts or in the recording studio, seek to realise their own

interpretation of a work to the best of their abilities. This, however, is not self-evident

(see Cook 1999a: 247-252; 1999b: 12-22; 2001: ¶22 and passim; Rink 2002b; Clarke

2002a: 63-64). Performers could arrive at certain convictions about a work’s structure,

significance or character, and still choose to downplay these elements – or to

introduce features for which they would not claim any analytic or hermeneutic

justification. Thus, if one seeks to establish the performers’ intentions, it is not

sufficient to examine their views of the music: it is equally important to examine how

they view their own role as performers, with respect to such concepts as fidelity,

licence and creativity.

These considerations have generated scepticism towards the “performance ‘of’

paradigm” (Cook 1999a: 244; 2001: ¶28) – the examination of a musical performance

as first-and-foremost a realisation of the score. Cook proposes an alternative,

“performance studies paradigm” which focuses on the performers’ actions and

interactions, and “seeks to understand performances in relation to other performances

[...] rather than in relation to the original vision supposedly embodied in an

authoritative text” (2001: ¶16).

In my own study, I try to incorporate both elements in this ostensible

dichotomy. I examine recordings of the Mass in terms of their “relationship to the

horizon of expectations established by other performances” (ibid: ¶16) – of the Mass

as well as of other repertoires – and by other modes of reception. That horizon of

expectations, however, includes the musical notation (the various existing editions,

and several performers’ own research into the original sources), as well as conflicting

views on its binding power on musical performance. I therefore operate on the basis

of a refinement, rather than a total abandonment, of the performance-of paradigm (cf.

ibid: ¶15-¶18, ¶22, ¶28).

Indeed, precisely during the period I focus upon (c. 1950-2000), strong doubts

have been expressed about the work-concept’s relevance to Bach’s oeuvre in general

(e.g., Goehr 1994: 8, 177-178, 200) and to the Mass in particular (e.g., Smend 1956:

78-84, 188-190). The two controversies are distinct: in expressing his doubts about

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the Mass’s unity, Friedrich Smend was not questioning the work-concept as such.

Rather, he argued that the Mass consists of four separate works.

The specific controversy regarding the Mass’s unity has had very little impact

on the music’s actual performance. Smend’s view that a sequential performance of the

complete B minor Mass is “not only a historical misunderstanding, but also an artistic

mistake” (“nicht nur ein historisches Mißverstädnis, sondern auch ein künstlersicher

Fehlgriff”; ibid: 188) was ignored, in practice, in all recordings of the Mass from 1956

to the present day. Even performers who were partly sympathetic to Smend’s

historical case did not abandon the “Fehlgriff” of sequential performance, and some –

notably Robert Shaw (1999) and Wilhelm Ehmann (1961: 12-14) – explicitly argued

that a “historical misunderstanding” could lead to artistic success.

Ehmann argues that the same musical score can legitimately enjoy different

modes of existence,20 which fit the context of its current reception even if they do not

correspond to the composer’s original conception. He accepts that Bach might have

conceived the music we now know as the B minor Mass as a series of separate pieces,

or as musica speculativa not intended for performance at all. He argues, however, that

this should not stop musicians today from presenting it as a unified concert work.

Ehmann concedes that the perception and performance of the B minor Mass as a

unity could be an anachronism, dependent upon a work-concept that might have been

foreign to Bach himself (cf. Dahlhaus 1983b: 9-10; Goehr 1994: 113-115, 253-257).

Indeed, the Mass’s performance and publication history began in earnest in the 19th-

century (its first complete performance took place in 1859), inspired by the example

set by Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis (Herz 1985: 187-203; Butt 1991: 27-36; Stauffer

1997b: 187-198). Without the work-concept, the Mass might never have been

performed in its entirety (however, see Stauffer 1997b: 257-260).

By the time Smend’s edition was published, the Mass had already been firmly

established in the repertoire; several scholars were quick to defend its position against

Smend’s challenge. Georg von Dadelsen, in particular, provided a detailed account of

the historical and musical flaws in Smend’s arguments shortly after Smend’s edition

had been published (reprinted as Dadelsen 1970, 1989a; see also Blankenburg 1957,

Keller 1957). For performers less willing than Shaw and Ehmann to commit a willing

20 Ehmann (1961: 12-13) speaks alternately of different types of existence (“Existenz”) and of different “Lebensmöglichkeit” (literally: possibilities or options for life).

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anachronism, Dadelsen’s arguments provided historical justification for continuing to

treat the Mass a unity.

Few performers and scholars today accept Smend’s specific claims with regards

to the B minor Mass. However, the more general controversy over the applicability of

the work-concept to pre-1800 music in general, and Bach’s in particular, continues.21

These debates have certainly influenced 20th- and 21st-century performance practice.

For example, in recent decades, Renaissance and Baroque Masses have frequently

been performed (at least on record) in the context of a liturgical reconstruction,

ostensibly restoring them to their original context; these reconstructions are based on

the premise that a sequential performance of such “works” is an anachronism (Dixon

1992: 1065-1067; cf. Walls 2003: 82-83).

Such reconstructions are virtually non-existent in the discography of Bach’s

Mass.22 Consequently, the recordings of the Mass under the direction of Harry

Christophers, John Eliot Gardiner, Philippe Herreweghe and Andrew Parrott have

much more in common with each other than the same conductors’ recordings of

Monteverdi’s Vespro della Beata Vergine. Parrott and Christophers place

Monteverdi’s music within a liturgical reconstruction: they insert “extraneous” music

(appropriate chants, short instrumental pieces), and determine the order of

Monteverdi’s own compositions in accordance with the liturgy they are seeking to

reconstruct. Herreweghe sticks to the so-called original order (relying on the index to

the original 1610 publication), adding only Gregorian chants. Gardiner, on the other

hand, insists that the concept of the unified work is fully applicable to Monteverdi’s

publication, likening his colleagues’ attempts at liturgical reconstruction to “tearing

the work limb from limb and then reassembling it in scarcely recognizable form”

(1990: 13n). His own performance consists exclusively of Monteverdi’s music,

arranged according to the 1610 index (cf. Whenham 1997: 92-94, 134-136).

21 For arguments in favour of the work-concept’s relevance to Baroque music, see White 1997 (compare, however, Erauw 1998) and Walls 2003: 75-89. 22 The only exception is Georg Christoph Biller’s recording, which supplements Bach’s music with “a minimum of relevant liturgical propers [...] appropriate for Whitsun 1748 in Leipzig” (Biller et al. 2001). These are placed between the main sections of the Mass, and hardly disrupt the sense of unity and continuity in the presentation of Bach’s music. Paul McCreesh used Bach’s music as part of a more elaborate liturgical reconstruction, alongside works by other composers (see p. 133n below, and discography for chapter 5). In this case, Bach’s multi-movement sequences (a mass and two cantatas) were combined into a wider context, but each of them remained intact and uninterrupted.

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The performances also differ in other elements which, in “work-regulated”

repertoires, one would expect to be determined by the notation, namely pitch

(including pitch and key relationships between the constituent “movements”;

Whenham 1997: 90-91)23 and scoring (the division between vocal soli and tutti, and

the addition of instruments; ibid: 87-90). In the latter context, Gardiner goes beyond

the strictures implied by a strict interpretation of the sources, arguing that

Monteverdi’s scoring indications “are neither prescriptive nor proscriptive” (1990:

18). Others (notably Parrott) adopt a more literalistic approach.

In other repertoires of the same period, performances can differ radically even

regarding supposedly “work-defining” features such as basic melodic and harmonic

content. Again, if one compares Gardiner’s, Nikolaus Harnoncourt’s and René

Jacobs’s recordings of Bach’s B minor Mass with the same conductors’ recordings of

Monteverdi’s L’incoronazione di Poppea, the differences between their respective

performances of the latter work would be much more pronounced. Harnoncourt and

Jacobs both accompany the singers with partly-composed instrumental lines from

consorts of string and wind instruments, creating rich textures with prominent

thematic materials not present in the notation (for their arguments in favour of this

approach, see Harnoncourt 1989: 29-32, Jacobs 1990: 33-38). Gardiner accompanies

his singers with continuo instruments alone, thereby treating “the surviving sources

[...] not as mere sketches needing elaborate amplification [...] but as complete in

themselves” (Carter 1996: 21; see also Curtis 1989: xii-xiii).

These two cases demonstrate the extent to which performances of the B minor

Mass are still regulated by the work-concept. This could partly be ascribed the

composers’ status in the repertoire and the canon: the tendency to treat Bach’s

notation with greater reverence is not unrelated to his firmer position in the canon,

compared to earlier composers.

However, the difference is also – perhaps primarily – a reflection of the

composers’ different attitudes to notation. The autograph score of the Mass, in

particular, is more complete and less ambiguous than the sources of the Monteverdi

works mentioned above; it allows less scope for re-orchestration or copious added

improvisation. More generally, Bach is considered to have approached a more 23 The debate is largely on the interpretation of the notational evidence: the claims supporting a downward transposition of two movements assume that the transposition is encoded into the notation, not that this was a matter to be determined by the performer.

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prescriptive ideal of notation, to have “[taken] away the prerogative of the

improvising performer” (Butt 1991: 91), compared to his predecessors and

contemporaries (cf. Butt 2002a: 93, 109-114; Fabian 2003: 159-168). This was even

commented upon in Bach’s lifetime, especially with reference to the issue of

improvisation and ornamentation (most famously in the Scheibe-Birnbaum debate;

Wolff 1998a: 338, 347). Where his notation seems less specific, this is reflected in a

greater variety of performative approaches – even when the music in question is

treated with as much reverence in Bach reception as the Mass (notable examples

being scoring and instrumentation in Musikalisches Opfer and Die Kunst der Fuge).24

This is not to suggest that all performers of the Mass adhere to a single ideal of

fidelity to the work. Werktreue has arguably acted as an umbrella term for quite

divergent ideologies on the relationships between the musical text in the score and the

actual performance (cf. Taruskin 1995: 12-13; Sharpe 2000: 112-113, 119-125; and p.

38 below), and indeed the examination of changing concepts of “fidelity to the work”

is one of the themes of my research. Given the philological debates surrounding the

Mass and the status of its various sources (reflected, inter alia, in conflicting

editions), it is also clear that there is no single definitive text which serves as the

undisputed basis for all performances. Additionally, the precise meaning of Bach’s

notation depends upon the performers’ assumptions on how the notation is to be

interpreted. These assumptions have demonstrably changed in the past few decades –

as a result, inter alia, of performance practice research.

Most performers of Bach’s choral music, however, still consider the realisation

of Bach’s instructions as preserved in his notation as, at the very least, the starting-

point for performative interpretation. Re-orchestrations, re-composition and

deviations from the established sequence of movements can be traced in the Mass’s

performance history, especially in the 19th century (Herz 1985: 188-196), but they are

marginal to its performance history over the past 50 years. As already noted (p. 19n

above), only one recording (Biller 2000) introduces extraneous music into the

sequence. There are no abridged performances: Smend’s view on the Mass’s disunity

did not inspire musicians or record companies to perform the Mass’s constituent

24 Several other works by Bach are also frequently recorded and performed in arrangements, notable examples being the organ trio sonatas (which have been recorded in chamber-music arrangements by several HIP ensembles) and the Goldberg Variations.

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“works” in isolation, instead of presenting a sequential performance.25 Changes to the

notated rhythms, pitch-relationships and harmonies are rare. Differences between

performances in these respects often reflect the use of different editions, or the

application of different rules for decoding notation,26 rather than deliberate deviations

from Bach’s instructions as the performers understand them.

Against this, one could introduce some caveats:

1. In the 1950s and 1960s, several recordings (e.g., Jochum 1957) make

small changes to the notated scoring – for example, raising the flutes by

an octave in some movements (e.g., the Resurrexit), presumably to

ensure their audibility. These and similar alterations are not reflected in

any of the scores I examined.

2. Continuo realisation inevitably contains an element of improvisation

(unless the keyboard player is relying on a pre-existing, notated

realisation). In some cases, these added notes are clearly audible. The

piano continuo in Coates’s recording is quite prominent in the sound-

stage. In several recordings (e.g., Lehmann’s and Richter’s), the organ is

conspicuous, especially when it doubles the vocal lines (perhaps in an

effort to ensure choral intonation). When a harpsichord continuo is

employed (see discography), it is usually more prominent (see especially

p. 211 below), as is the theorbo in Harry Christophers’ recording. In

most recordings, however, the improvising continuo player is placed in

the background (by the conductors, recording producers, or even the

players themselves; see also p. 144n below).

3. Ornaments and embellishments can also appear in other instrumental

and vocal parts.

4. Continuo realisation involves a choice of scoring. Another area that

offers similar choices is vocal scoring – the decision on whether to

employ choral or soloistic forces.27 Until recently, however, the choice

25 There is one exception to this: Telefunken released a recording of the 1733 Missa (Tel. 9581), which was listed in Schwann from August 1972 to April 1979. This LP consists of the Kyrie and Gloria from Nikolaus Harnoncourt’s complete 1968 recording; the decision to release only the Missa therefore had no effect on the performance, which was originally conceived as part of a whole. 26 The controversy surrounding the issue of reverse dotting in the Domine deus mixes both issues. 27 One could also note the case of the Benedictus, where Bach’s autograph does not give an instrumental indication. Most editors and performers, however, assume that Bach did have a specific

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has been avoided; before the 1980s, only one recording (Shaw 1960) has

taken up the challenge raised by Wilhelm Ehmann (1961), and his

suggestion that performers could choose between solo (concertino) and

tutti (ripieno) scoring. Instead, performers assumed that Bach had

already dictated the division between soloists and choir in his notation:

by marking a movement as a chorus, he was requesting that it should be

performed by the full ensemble.28 At most, they were willing to alter the

size of the choir or orchestra (a notable example being Harnoncourt’s

1968 performance). The ideals of fidelity and literalism might well have

been among the reasons for the late (and rare) acceptance of unnotated

concertino-ripieno alternations as a legitimate option in the performance

of Bach’s choral music; “scholars and performers alike have felt uneasy

about this approach, precisely because of the liberties it seems to take

with Bach’s musical texts” (Rifkin 2002: 39; see also pp. 128f below).

In his discussion of the role of notation vis-à-vis performance, Nicholas Cook

(1998: 63) states that “the whole art of performances lies in the interstices of notation,

in those parts of the music that the score cannot reach”: different performances of the

same notation, in western music, differ in their precise realisation of timing,

dynamics, timbre, and other elements that cannot be specified in the notation (as

opposed to relative pitches and relative durations, which are fixed). As the list of

caveats above indicates, Cook’s statement is not literally accurate even with regard to

performances of the Mass; but as a generalisation, it does hold. What most listeners

today would perceive as liberties still lie primarily in performative interpretation

instrument in mind and neglected to notate it; the performer is not supposed to choose the obbligato instrument, but to reconstruct Bach’s original choice (see, however, Stauffer 1997b: 159-160). Schweitzer (1911, II: 324-325) and Stauffer (1997b: 224-231) have also argued in favour of adding colla-parte instruments in the Credo and Confiteor. Most performances, however, adhere to the a-capella scoring of Bach’s autograph notation; even Helmuth Rilling, who recommends colla-parte scoring in his book (1984: 103), only employs it in one of his three recordings (Rilling 1988a). This uniformity is striking in comparison to the discography of the Motets, where both a-capella and colla parte options are amply represented. 28 Several performances that are otherwise fully choral allocate the “iterum venturus est” (Resurrexit, bars 74-86) to a soloist – an idea perhaps first suggested by Donald Tovey (1937: 42). However, the first conductor to do so was Harnoncourt (in his 1968 performance), and most modern-instrument conductors, before and since, did not follow suit.

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(inflections of parameters such as dynamics, articulation and tempo), rather than in

changes to notated pitch and rhythm.

It should also be noted that the level of literalism and strict adherence to the

score is changing. Recorded performances seem, on the whole, to be more literalistic

than several documented performances in the 19th century. Point 1 above

notwithstanding, the most literalistic performances on record date primarily from the

1950s-1970s. In the last two decades, performers have increasingly allowed

themselves greater liberties in realising the score, in such areas as ornamentation,

rhythms, note-lengths and scoring – as well as in “those parts of the music that the

score cannot reach” (see especially chapter 6 below). Interestingly, most of these liberties were introduced by HIP musicians.

Taruskin was voicing a typical complaint when he wrote that the Early Music

movement “has uncritically accepted the post-Romantic work-concept and imposed it

anachronistically on pre-Romantic repertoires” (1995: 13). However, if my

Monteverdi-Bach comparisons are valid and emblematic, it seems that this claim is

valid primarily in repertoires (like the B minor Mass) where the work-concept has

already taken hold before the emergence of HIP; and that, even there, it is HIP

musicians who are beginning to apply a different, more flexible approach.

As Bernard Sherman notes, several HIP musicians use historical knowledge to

“undermine” – or at least modify – “the concept of the fixed, perfected work” (1997:

393). For these musicians, seeking greater freedom for the performers in no way

contradicts the belief “that a performer’s responsibility might consist in being faithful

to the work being performed or, in fact, of adhering as closely as possible to the

composer’s intention” (Walls 2003: 75). On the contrary: they believe that the attempt

to understand the composer’s intention “helps us to temper the view of musical works

as static, timeless objects and allows us to see them as something much closer to the

process of performance itself” (Butt 2002a: 85; see also Van Tassel 1997: 708-711;

Bilson 1997; Levin 1997, 2004; Walls 2003: 87-88 and passim; Haynes 2005).

This development is certainly reflected in the Mass’s discography to date.

However, even the freest performances relate closely enough to the score to allow a

researcher such as myself to use the latter as a point of departure in discussing and

comparing performances.

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In treating performances of the Mass as part of the work’s reception – alongside

verbal commentaries and analyses – I am assuming that, in some sense (admittedly,

not always precisely definable), all these writers and musicians are responding to “the

same object”.29 This approach is especially dominant in Part Two, where discussions

of the music’s harmonic, melodic, rhythmic and structural qualities (both in my own

analyses and in those I cite) are directly linked with analyses of specific

performances. At the same time, I also seek to demonstrate how different

performances – even if they all can be described as realisations of the same score –

create highly divergent musical shapes.

1.2.5. Intensity and performance: The x/x matrix

One of the main controversies concerning within the “performance-of”

paradigm surrounds the notion of “letting the music speak for itself”. The spectrum of

opinion ranges from the advocacy of performative restraint and literalism to the view

that performers should “make the implicit explicit” (Bazzana 1997: 56).

The controversy is of particular importance for my investigation of Intensity in

performance. This issue involves two separate yet related considerations. The first

relates to the understanding of the music: how much Intensity do the performers

ascribe to the music, and on what grounds? The second concerns the transition from

the work’s reception to its performance: to what extent, and in what ways, do

performers seek to realise their perceptions? The interaction between these

considerations can manifest itself, in a schematic fashion, in four basic ways, relevant

both for the performer’s conception and the critic’s reception:30

1. +/+ : This music is expressive, and should therefore be performed expressively;

2. +/- : This music is so expressive that it could (or should) be performed

inexpressively;

3. -/+ : This music is not expressive, but should performed expressively;

4. -/- : This music is not expressive, and should not be performed as if it were.

29 To some extent, this assumption would be legitimate even for performances of the counter-examples I offered above (e.g., Monteverdi’s Vespro). 30 This matrix can be applied to Complexity and Unity, as well as to Intensity; indeed, it can be applied to any quality perceived in the music which is amenable, potentially, to performative realisation.

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This scheme obviously demands several qualifications – above and beyond the

necessity of finding out what performers and critics alike mean by “expressive” and

related terms. Furthermore, it refers only to views of a particular work, not to an

overarching ideology; no performer or critic regards all music as equally expressive.

A scheme for positions “in principle” might recognise the following options:

1. x/+: Performance should always be as expressive as possible;

2. x/-: Performance should always be contained, allowing music to speak for

itself whatever its own Intensity;

3. x/x: The level of Intensity in the performance should be calibrated with the

level of Intensity in the music.

In the course of this dissertation, this scheme will serve as a starting point for

discussing aspects of ideology and performance alike. Its application will, however,

reveal some of the weaknesses of applying rigid schemata to a more nuanced reality.

1.3. The Mass as a case study

1.3.1. The Mass’s discography

A meaningful examination of developments in the performance of Bach’s choral

music requires a wide discography, encompassing a variety of styles. Focusing on a

single work allows a close comparison between a large number of approaches to the

same music. On the other hand, it restricts the range of performances available,

forcing the researcher to omit any performer who did not record that particular work.

The obvious candidates for this purpose are the Mass and the two Passions.

These works have a larger discography than any of the cantatas, featuring

performances by musicians who did not perform most of Bach’s other vocal music

(e.g., Herbert von Karajan, Eugen Jochum). The Mass’s main disadvantage as a case

study is the scarcity of available evidence from the pre-LP era. The Matthäus-Passion

was recorded at least eight times before the advent of LP (though most of these

recordings were incomplete); the Mass was only recorded twice. For this reason, my

dissertation focuses largely on the period between 1950 and 2000, for which the

Mass’s discography provides a richer documentation.

The Mass’s main advantage, for the purposes of this study, is that it is a

predominantly choral work; this facilitates a focus on the conductors’ and ensembles’

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contribution, arguably justifying less attention to the further complicating factor of

soloists’ contribution (see also 1.4, pp. 29ff below). The Mass’s internal variety,

covering a wider range of moods and styles than the Passions, also contributes to its

value as a case study in examining performance as reception, an advantage exploited

more in Part One than in Part Two.

1.3.2. “Intensity” and “Balance” in the Mass’s reception

The Mass is often regarded as a special case among Bach’s vocal works. The

difficulty in classifying it (in terms of its unity, denomination, or its very raison

d’être) has led to its exaltation by some, and to a more sceptical approach from others.

Attempts to normalise it (i.e., to prove that it is no less “functional” music than the

Passions or the cantatas) can be found alongside commentaries that emphasise its

uniqueness (for summaries of these debates, see Schulze 1985; Stauffer 1997b: 41-43,

255-265).

This is reflected, inter alia, by the role of Intensity in the work’s reception.

While the Passions are often held up as supreme examples of Bach’s dramatic and

expressive art, references to the Mass often focus on craftsmanship, stylistic diversity

and synthesis, and polyphonic mastery – elements more easily related to Unity and

Complexity.31 This partly reflects musical considerations (the Mass’s tonal unity, its

predominantly choral texture, the absence of recitatives and ariosi) and partly textual

and historical considerations (e.g., the “universal” or ecumenical appeal of the Mass’s

text). In Christoph Wolff’s Bach biography (2000: 8), the Mass represents Bach’s

highest achievement in “style and compositional technique, from retrospective to

modern”, while the Matthäus-Passion represents Bach’s attainment of “large scale

form”. “[M]usical affect and meaning” are represented by the church cantatas.

Wolff is among the most prominent advocates of the view that Bach intended

the Mass as a choral counterpart of encyclopaedic works like Die Kunst der Fuge

(see, for example, ibid: 431-442). This view, which links the Mass to Bach’s most

“universal” works, is summarised and expanded in Yoshitake Kobayashi’s

“Universality in Bach’s B minor Mass”. For Kobayashi, the Mass represents Unity

triumphing over all obstacles (stylistic, historical, liturgical). He hears in it a spirit of 31 For example, see Bukofzer 1948: 292-296; Steinitz 1975: 583-584, 653-656; Grout and Palisca 1988: 518-519. Geiringer’s discussion of the Mass (1966: 209-210) focuses on symbolism – but not expression, in contrast with his more directly emotive discussion of other vocal works.

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reconciliation – achieved without internal struggle – which also makes the work more

accessible for listeners removed from Bach’s spiritual world (cf. Marshall 1989: 69;

Schulze 1985: 313, 318-320; Wollny 1993: 13).

Such views are typical of the balance-as-equilibrium approach. The music’s

perfection might seem super-human, its sheer Complexity threatening; but the

presence of human Intensity (including beauty and lyricism), and of Unity, makes it

accessible and enjoyable even before one penetrates its Complexity. Through it all, its

equilibrium would seem to maintain a sense of inner peace even in moments of

utmost Intensity. Lang’s dissent from this comforting view (see p. 8 above) resurfaces

in his discussion of the Mass (1942: 498-499). In Lang’s view, the Mass’s ambition to

balance contradictory tendencies makes it less accessible; its dimensions are

“forbidding”, its “wealth of great music [...] oppressive”.

Alignment with the abstract aspects of Bach’s style and oeuvre is not, however,

a consistent strand in the work’s reception. For 19th- and early 20th-century writers

(e.g., Bitter, Spitta, Terry), the Mass seemed no less Intense than the Passions; some

of those who regarded the Mass as less Intense considered this a fault (e.g., Emery

1954). More recently, the abstract-work approach has been criticised as a damaging

distortion. For example, George Stauffer (1997b: 255-265) considers it unlikely, on

musical-expressive grounds, that the work was conceived on the same abstract-

didactic terms as Die Kunst der Fuge; like Marshall, he speaks of a “directness that

counterbalances the complexity of Bach’s writing” in the Mass (ibid: 263).32

Even the most emotively-charged accounts of the Mass seem to lie within the

balance-as-equilibrium approach. Inner tensions and struggles are rarely cited in the

Mass’s verbal reception, although several recent performances seem intent on

revealing these aspects.

32 In an article written ostensibly to defend the Mass from Smend’s charges of disunity, Hermann Keller (1957) reveals a deep suspicion towards the very inclusion of arias in the Mass, and generally finds the Mass too operatic and secularised. His negative assessment relies, to a large degree, on the same factors that Stauffer emphasises in his positive assessment.

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1.4. The selection of case-studies In the course of my research, I consulted more than 70 recordings of the Mass.

However, given the limited scope of a doctoral dissertation and the level of detailed

analysis I sought, I had to focus on a limited number of performances. My core group

thus consists of nine conductors (enumerated in chapters 3-6), who between them

made 17 recordings of the Mass. By the same token, I was not able to discuss all the

Mass’s movements in equal detail.

1.4.1. The selection of the core group for Part One

As I noted above, this study is conducted within an ideology-and-performance

framework, and the examination of performers’ ideology must cover both their

images of Bach and their view of their roles as performers. I therefore focus on

performers who expressed their opinions on both issues verbally.

Given the importance of analysing conductors’ views on Bach, I focused

primarily on musicians whose discographies cover large segments of Bach’s choral

repertoire. This enabled me to examine their approaches to the Mass against general

developments in their respective Bach styles, as well as against the traditions they

emerged from and/or reacted to.

In examining a performance of a choral-orchestral work, it is tempting to

ascribe the interpretation to the conductor. There are, however, obvious problems in

making this assumption. The actual music-making stems from the players and singers,

whose attitude towards the conductor’s interpretation could cover the full gamut from

complete disregard to total identification, and whose views and practices could, in

turn, influence the conductor’s views (see also 1.2.3, pp. 15ff above).33

Partly to address this issue, I focused on conductors who recorded the Mass with

ensembles that they themselves had founded (rather than guest conductors appearing

with pre-existing ensembles). This means that the conductor is likely to have shaped

the ensemble’s overall style as well as the specific performance – often in co-

operation with the musicians (who, in turn, were chosen in part for sharing the

conductor’s stylistic preferences, or for their willingness to adapt to them). All the

33 In recordings, the production team could also have a decisive influence on the final product. I have therefore attempted to ascertain their degree of control over the editing and production process, though such information was not always obtainable.

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conductors in my core group founded their own instrumental ensembles. With the

exception of Nikolaus Harnoncourt, they founded the vocal ensemble as well.

I classified these conductors according to their stated aesthetic ideologies: each

chapter brings together musicians who share a similar image of Bach, and/or of their

own role as performers. This does not necessarily mean that they share the same style

of performance. Indeed, Part One could be read as an examination of the relationship

between ideology and practice.

Chapter 2 is an exception to all the above-stated rules. The musicians I discuss

there do not share a performance ideology; most of them are not Bach experts, and

only one of them (Eugen Jochum) recorded the Mass with ensembles he had founded.

However, since many Bach performers define themselves (and/or are defined by

critics) with reference to the notion of “romantic performance”, it was imperative to

open Part One with an examination of what this term might mean, in the context of

20th-century Bach performance.

1.4.2. The selection of movements for Part Two

In Part Two, I switch my focus from the musicians to the music, through an

examination of three case studies (First Kyrie, Second Kyrie and Crucifixus). This

enables me to examine my “core-group” performers against a wider background, with

extensive references to other recordings.

The case studies had to consist of complete movements. Studies which focus on

issues of style and technique (e.g., articulation, dynamics and rubato) can be

conducted by “lifting” selected phrases from many performances and discussing them

in isolation (a technique exemplified, inter alia, in Philip 1992, Johnson 1999, Fabian

2003, and Ornoy 2001). The projection and creation of meaning and expression in

performance, however, has to be studied in terms of the shaping of entire movements

and their interrelationship. This necessarily limits the number of movements that can

be examined.

A particularly important issue in this context is directionality – the patterns of

tension-and-resolution that affect the sense of goal-orientation in the music. This

encompasses both “local directionality” – ebb-and-flow within individual phrases –

and “overall directionality” across an entire movement (Cohen 1994: 34-37). The

attitude towards directionality – both local and overall – is central to the distinction

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between stylistic ideologies in Bach performance. The investigation of this feature

was another consideration which mandated the examination of complete movements.

Since I have chosen to focus on the work of ensembles and conductors, I have

decided to exclude solos and duets from Part Two. The three choruses I selected for

Part Two all feature imitative polyphonic textures, and relate to the darker side of the

emotional spectrum. Thus, each of them can be used to examine the interaction

between Complexity and Intensity, and the potential positive feedback between the

two (see p. 10 above); together, they can be used to illustrate the performative

implications of balance-as-equilibrium and knife-edge-balance alike (see, however,

10.3.1, pp. 251ff below).

1.5. Methodology of listening

1.5.1. Listening and measurement

My decision to focus on complete movements also affected my approach to

listening and presentation. Performance studies frequently resort to tempo mapping,

tempo being the most measurable aspect of performance (e.g., Cook 1995; Bowen

1996, 1999; Lowe 2000; Grunin 2004). The dangers inherent in such a near-exclusive

focus on one musical parameter were noted by some of these researchers (Cook

1999b: 47; Lowe 2002). It is especially dangerous in the context of my study. Tempo

modifications play a relatively minor role in most performances of the Mass,

compared to phrasing, articulation and dynamics.

In the course of my research, I made use of Nicholas Cook’s timing program

(http://www.soton.ac.uk/~musicbox/charm5.html). However, I was unable to develop

a satisfactory “tapping” technique, essential for the program’s operation. Given my

minor problems of motor control, this is not surprising. Even the apparently more

straightforward method of using a metronome has proved unsatisfactory in some

cases. Again, the attempt was valuable: the ease or difficulty of obtaining a

metronome number for a movement was a useful indicator of the performance’s

strictness or flexibility. But it led me to give up on my original plan to include a table

of metronome marks alongside the table of durations; for such a table to be credible, it

http://www.soton.ac.uk/~musicbox/charm5.html

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would have to include numerous indications on the reliability of specific data-points,

and this would impede the table’s immediate clarity.

Other measurement techniques, both for timing and for other factors (such as

vibrato) are also time-consuming and therefore tend to be used in research focusing on

short phrases, and with references to sparse textures. They are less practicable for

studying large-scale patterns in choral-orchestral pieces.

In the future, it might be possible to obtain more accurate measurements of

several parameters, with a level of detail and reliability which at present is only

available to researchers who rely on piano rolls (e.g., Bowen 1999: 440) or on

performances played and recorded on MIDI keyboard (e.g., Clarke 1995). In my view,

such opportunities should be seized, where available. They can certainly assist in

preventing errors in perception (e.g., assuming the existence of tempo fluctuations

where an effect might actually be the result of phrasing or dynamics), which are likely

to occur when researchers rely, as I have usually done, on their own ears.

However, for the data thus obtained to be useful, its interpreters would have to

take human perception into account.34 The minutiae documented by the computer may

be at odds with most listeners’ perception.35 When such contradictions occur, most

researchers would be more interested in the listeners’ perception than in the

computer’s analysis. It should also be remembered that there is no single, ideal

listener. Listeners differ in time, age, geography, musical experience and education,

perceptual and cognitive abilities, and personal character. Whether one relies on

listening alone, or on a combination of listening and measurements, one should be

careful not to interpret all performances, regardless of their time and place of origin

and the performers’ background, against a single yardstick.

34 The subject of listener’s responses to performance has itself been the object of research. See, in particular, the work of Dorottya Fabian and Emery Schubert on the listeners’ perception of Bach performance (listed in bibliography, and discussed on pp. 44ff and 256ff below). 35 As Ian Cross (personal communication) noted, events which a computer detects as occurring successively may be perceived as simultaneous. Research has also demonstrated that performances which listeners perceive as strictly metronomic actually deviate from the steady beat – while truly metronomic renditions are rarely perceived as such (Bruno Repp, cited in Clarke 1995: 23). The reasons for this are, to a great extent, cultural (for example, experienced listeners will expect a ritardando at the end of a phrase, and will therefore consider its absence as speeding up). Consequently, perceptions vary between listeners of different times, places, and backgrounds.

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1.5.2. The choice of parameters

My own practice has consisted primarily of repeatedly listening to

performances, ranging from continuous listening to an entire recording of the Mass

from beginning to end to direct comparisons of specific movements or passages in

various performances. In the course of listening, I made detailed notes (verbal

comments and score annotations) – sometimes associative, sometimes according to

pre-set list of parameters. These parameters included tempo, dynamics, articulation,

phrasing, textural clarity and balance; in several movements (including all the

movements featured as case-studies in Part Two), I instructed myself to pay attention

to specific passages and their role in shaping the movement as a whole. I also

addressed parameters of tone- and voice-production, albeit less systematically. These

priorities are reflected in my analyses.

One set of parameters missing from this list is pitch, intonation and

temperament.36 For modern-instrument performances, this is largely not an issue: in

the period under discussion (primarily 1950 onwards), equal temperament is the

standard tuning system, and the standard pitch is A = 440.

For period-instrument performances, the situation is more complex. To the best

of my judgement, all period-instrument performances of the Mass adopt A = 415 as

their pitch standard. I was unable to distinguish, through my own listening, the precise

type of tuning system used in each performance. However, from consultation both my

supervisors (John Butt and Geoffrey Webber, personal communication), I understand

that the choice of tuning does not constitute a major factor in shaping performative

interpretations of choral-orchestral music of the late Baroque period.37 Choice of basic

tuning systems, and the ability to modify tuning in the course of performance, are

severely restricted by the need to perform a work scored for various types of

instruments and voices, and traversing a relatively large number of keys, and

accompany throughout with the same keyboard instrument(s). Many HIP groups

therefore adopt a general-purpose tuning system, based on one of the late-Baroque

“well-tempered” systems or a modification of equal temperament (cf. Harnoncourt

36 I also did not focus on the scoring and contribution of the continuo instruments, and on the role of ornamentation and improvisation; see, however, p. 22 above. 37 The situation is different in earlier repertoires (where systems of mean-tone tuning are much more prevalent and practicable), and in music for solo instruments or chamber ensembles.

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1988: 64-66; Lawson and Stowell 1999: 88-89; Martin Lindley, in Boyd 1999: 476-

477). The fact that issues of tuning and intonation are largely ignored in otherwise

wide-ranging discussions of performance-practice issues in the Mass (cf. Rifkin

1982a; Butt 1991: 38-41; Stauffer 1997b: 206-249) provides oblique corroboration for

these observations.38

The issue is also largely ignored in surveys and discussions of Bach on record

(e.g., Taruskin 1995; Nicholas Anderson, in Boyd 1999: 410-416; Elste 2000; Fabian

2003; and most record reviews).39 This might reflect the likelihood that most listeners

are not consciously affected by the performers’ choice of pitch and intonation

system.40 Such choices are likely to affect (unconsciously) many listeners’ perception

of other parameters, such as timbre and tone production. However, to properly

evaluate this, it would be necessary to conduct a combined study, measuring the

tuning as preserved on record and comparing it with listeners’ reactions (cf. p. 32

above) employing experimental methodologies for studying audience response. This

obviously falls beyond the scope of the present dissertation.

1.5.3. Objectivity and subjectivity

The main disadvantage of my reliance on my own ears is that it might have led

to descriptions that are too subjective and personalised, reflecting a listening

experience which is, for better or worse, highly unusual, and displaying my own

personal biases. My personal strengths and weaknesses as a listener are also reflected

in these analyses.

I attempted to balance this, both through an investigation into the performances’

reception as documented in record reviews, and through sporadic, informal attempts

to compare my reactions to those of other listeners. I attempted to account for my

reactions in as much detail as possible, allowing readers to judge the reliability of my

hearing and reasoning alike. The recorded excerpts attached should assist in this. 38 Lawson and Stowell, in their survey of performance-practice issues in the Matthäus-Passion (1999: 99-109), discuss pitch (ibid: 103), but not temperament and tuning. 39 Elste discusses pitch and tuning standards in his general chapter on performance practice (2000: 33-35) and in his account of performances of Das Wohltemperierte Klavier (ibid: 355-356), but not in his discussion of Bach’s orchestral or choral music. 40 Listeners with perfect pitch would, of course, notice the choice of pitch standard, and this might affect their experience. Likewise, some listeners – especially those who have had professional training in tuning as singers or instrumentalists – are more likely to take note of the choice of tuning system. The present writer does not belong to either category.

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I also made an effort to account for other reactions – to understand why critics,

and other listeners, responded to recordings the way they did. I could not always

achieve this even to my own satisfaction. Thus, my view of Thomaskantor Günther

Ramin (pp. 54f below) clashes with a critical consensus that regards him as a highly

expressive, spontaneous Bach conductor (cf. Trumpff 1962; Frotscher 1965; Kroher

1966; Meacock 1999; Heighes 2000: 42). The writer who came closest to describing

the static character I discerned in Ramin’s performances was the Soviet critic A.

Anicimov, in his report on the 1950 Bach Festival in Leipzig (quoted in Wehrmeyer

and Poldiaeva 2000: 191-192; see also K. Neumann 1970: 41; Fabian 1999: 451,

453).41

The issue is not simply a subjective difference of opinion, but a descriptive

discrepancy: several reviews imply that Ramin’s recordings feature a wider dynamic

range, and more varied articulation, than I was able to hear. In light of this, I could not

help suspecting that some critics were responding to Ramin’s reputation as a Bach

expert, rather than to audible features in his recordings (cf. Freeman-Attwood 2002:

13-14). I am aware, however, that analogous prejudices might affect my own

listening.

In my analyses, I attempt to present my perception of specific parameters within

the recordings with sufficient detail and accuracy – and with a sufficiently consistent

terminology – to enable readers to comprehend my priorities as a listener, and

compare them with their own. Through the ideology-and-performance approach, I

also attempt to relate these perceptions to what the performers (primarily the

conductors) were aiming to achieve, and to place their interpretations in a broader

perspective of Bach reception. Ultimately, I hope to demonstrate how performers’

priorities have changed – not only in regard to how expressive a performance should

be, but also in regard to what constitutes performative expression.

41 I also suspect that Ramin was one of Adorno’s targets in “Bach defended against his devotees”; cf. p. 54 below.

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PART ONE

SCHOOLS AND APPROACHES

2. Romanticism in Bach Performance The term “romanticism” is ubiquitous in discussions of Bach performance in

general, and the Mass’s discography in particular; yet its use is fraught with

contradictions. Over the past 50 years, several prominent Bach conductors have been

described alternately as “romanticists” and “objectivists”, even explicitly “anti-

romantics”. For the purposes of this study, it is important to trace possible sources for

these contradictory applications, and to examine whether, and how, the term can

applied productively to describe trends in 20th-century Bach performance.

2.1. The definition of romanticism

The concept of romanticism in Bach performance is usually associated with

three criteria:

1. Anachronism: In music history, “Romanticism” is associated with the 19th

century.1 To perform Bach romantically, in this sense, is to perform his

music in a style perceived as appropriate to 19th century music.

2. Emotional expressiveness: The OED defines “Romantic” in music as

“characterized by the subordination of form to theme, and by imagination

and passion”; in a recent program note, András Schiff (2002) defines

romanticism as: “Fantastic, imaginative, visionary, aesthetically more

concerned with feeling and emotion than with form and order”. Thus, the

term could refer to a performer’s application of +/+ or x/+ aesthetics.

1 As Samson (2003: §1) notes, there is no consensus on the precise demarcation of romanticism in musical history; however, most general music histories “extend the Romantic period through to the first decade of the 20th century”.

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3. Performative freedom and individualism: This is related to the image of

romantic performers as ones who allow free reign to their fantasy and rely

on their intuition – often in service of expressiveness.2 There is, to be sure, a

common view that 19th-century composers, in their more detailed notation,

progressively attempted to curtail performative freedom. This view is,

however, an over-simplification at best (Butt 2002a: 98-114). Arguably,

strict literalism and performative freedom are both strongly rooted in 19th-

century aesthetics (Goehr 1996). Literalism, however, has become stricter

and more pervasive in the 20th-century. Performative freedom has come to

be associated with the earliest available recording – early 20th-century sound

documents by artists brought up in the 19th century – and consequently

labelled “romantic”.

In my reading of post-1945 discourse on Bach performance, all references to a

performer, a performance, a style or a specific feature (e.g., rubato, gradual dynamic

changes) as “romantic” entail the attribution of one of the criteria cited above to the

object of discussion. When the same performance is classified, alternately, as

“romantic” and “anti-romantic”, there are two possible explanations:

1. The writers disagree on whether a particular criterion applies (e.g., whether

gradual dynamics constitute an anachronism in Baroque music);

2. One of the writers classified a performance as “romantic” on the strength of

one criterion (e.g., anachronism), while another described it as non-

romantic due to the absence of another (e.g., expressiveness).

With reference to Bach’s choral music, the term is most frequently applied to

conductors of the symphonic-operatic tradition, who are perceived as performing

Bach “anachronistically” in the same style they apply to later composers’ music.

When that label is attached to performers from a different tradition (e.g., HIP), this is

often regarded as an exception to that tradition’s “rule”.

In his New Grove Online article on “Romanticism”, Samson (2003: §3) suggests

that “we are on safer ground considering Romanticism in relation to ideas and

motivations rather than styles, and that if we must invoke styles, we will do better to

confine the term to a description of the larger tendencies flowing from those ideas and

2 Laurence Dreyfus (1992: 305) defines his ideal romantic performance in terms of expression and performative freedom, but emphatically denies the identification of romanticism with anachronism.

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motivations”. This suggestion is equally applicable to the subject of this chapter. I will

therefore consider the issue of what might constitute a 20th-century romantic

performance aesthetics before discussing specific stylistic features.

2.1.1. Romantic ideology

Kevin Bazzana’s examination of romantic performance aesthetics (1997: 51-58)

provides a useful starting point for this investigation. His reference point is pre-WWII

performers – specifically those who did not adhere to notions of literalism or Neue

Sachlichkeit – and later performers who maintained similar premises and practices.

Bazzana lists the following attributes for romantic performance ideology:

1. Belief in the “Romantic aesthetic of absolute music” – coupled with a

rejection of literalism;

2. Belief that the performer’s individualism is paramount: “the performer must

be true to himself first, before the composer or the audience” (ibid: 52);

3. Willing endorsement of anachronism – shaping elements of performance

style without regard for the work’s composer and era, and choosing

performing editions without regard to authenticity;

4. Endorsement or realisation of an x/x (or even x/+) ideal, “making the

implicit explicit” (ibid: 56).

The first clause might seem self-contradictory – but only from the vantage point

of later approaches to Werktreue, which identify “work” with “text” (Taruskin 1995:

12). The tenets of romantic performance ideology can be linked to a holistic

conception of Werktreue – faithfulness to the spirit, rather than the letter – coupled

with a belief that a fine musician would be able to intuit this “spirit” directly from a

close examination of the music. This way of thinking – strengthened by the view of

the musical work itself as a self-sufficient “monad”, containing within itself the

necessary elements for its comprehension – obviates the need for historical propriety

or faithfulness to the ‘accidents’ of performance detail.

Romantic aesthetics ideally requires performers to be free from their own pre-

conceptions as well. They have a duty to communicate their conception of the work’s

spirit to the audience, but they should approach the act of performance in an

improvisatory, intuitive manner. Rather than developing a detailed conception prior to

performance, they should allow scope for last-minute decisions (see also Goehr 1996:

17).

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Romantic performance aesthetics is also associated with the rising importance

of the conductor, sometimes described as a specifically 19th-century phenomenon

(e.g., Stravinsky 1947: 125-126). Thus, the very presence of a conductor in a

performance of Bach’s music is sometimes referred to as an anachronism, comparable

to the employment of modern instruments, oversized choirs and so forth (see also

Sherman 2003, and 4.3.1.2.2, pp. 110f below). The Maestro as a charismatic, creative

artist is also associated with the perception of choral and orchestral music as sublime

in the narrow, Burkean sense (as opposed to “beautiful”). This raises again a familiar

paradox; “a traditional romantic (and later high-modernist) conception of music’s

transcendental mission” (Goehr 1996: 1) is used as an argument both for and against

strongly personalised performance. In the context of the three criteria above, views on

the relations between this “transcendental mission” and emotional expressiveness are

of particular importance: is sublimity conceived as the heightening of emotion, or as

transcendence of it?

Any ideology that contains a Werktreue element has to justify performative

expression in x/x, rather than x/+, terms: un-notated interpretive gestures could be

legitimised, even mandated, as being true to the spirit of the work, but only if the

music itself is perceived as emotionally intense. Such a perception has been a

dominant strand in Romantic Bach reception: the association of Bach’s religious

music with a Religion of Emotion (Gefühlsreligion) can be traced back to the

reception of Mendelssohn’s performances of the Matthäus-Passion (M. Geck 1967:

67-71; however, cf. Garratt 2002: 62-68, and p. 7 above). In later writings, Intensity in

Bach’s sacred music is sometimes directly related to its characterisation as romantic

(cf. Spitta 1889, III: 67; Parry 1909: 554; Terry 1924: 31).

“Romantic” Bach reception further justified the application of anachronism to

his music by viewing the composer himself as “an anachronism [...] standing defiantly

outside his times” (Bazzana 1997: 67). Admittedly, there are at least two ways to view

Bach as anachronistic – the Bach-as-romantic image is quite different from the Bach-

as-Conservative image (cf. p. 43 below). In itself, however, the Bach-as-romantic

view could be used to justify an “anachronistic” performance style – provided the

speaker also adheres to an x/x philosophy.

A romantic ideology for Bach performance can thus feature the following

precepts:

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1. Anachronism: Bach’s music viewed as independent of its historical context,

and not bound by the conventions of its time.

2. Continuity: the belief that Bach’s music can be understood in the same

aesthetic terms as Beethoven’s (Stauffer 1997a: 207) or Wagner’s (M.

Geck 1967: 127-128). This can sometimes be associated with an “organic”

conception of Bach’s music – viewing it in terms of gradual changes, of

growth and decline of intensity (see also p. 41 below);

3. An emphasis on the music’s expressive richness, grandeur and sublimity;

4. A strong x/x conception, which insists on the performer’s right – even duty

– to bring out the music’s expressive character.

2.1.2. The technical side: Attributes of romanticism

As a style of performance, romanticism is often viewed as the adoption of

performative-expressive techniques developed for 19th-century music. Specific

techniques include frequent modifications of tempo, dynamics and timbre. Bazzana

(1997: 55), who focuses on pianists, mentions “‘‘melodic rubato’ [...]; a fascination

with bringing out inner voices; the casual breaking of vertical sonorities; florid

continuo playing”. Fabian (2003: 131) speaks of “a nineteenth-century performance

tradition that generally strives for a continuous legato and ‘never-ending’ phrases or

melodic lines, covers up the frequent cadence points so typical of baroque music by

undulating dynamics, elongated tempo rubato and a climactic emphasis of

suspensions and dissonances”. As Robert Philip demonstrates (1992: 208-223 and

passim), many of these qualities are present in recordings by artists who were brought

up in the 19th century.

Stravinsky, in his critique of “Interpretation” (1947: 124-125), alludes to many

of the same features. Given his basic x/- philosophy, he condemns them as

inappropriate even in 19th-century music. However, he believes that Baroque music is

inherently less expressive, and is therefore entitled to a restrained, -/- approach.

Leonard Bernstein (1960: 227-228) presents a different view: that Bach’s music

should be rendered expressively, but not through the application of 19th-century

means. He demonstrates this by presenting – and rejecting – his own attempts at

injecting expression into Bach’s music as a teenaged piano student. These apparently

incorporated most of the techniques described above, enriched by detailed

accentuation patterns (cf. Schweitzer 1911, II: 391). Bernstein’s primary reason for

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rejecting them is that they ignore Bach’s Unity of Affect. His talk does not include

many positive performance recommendations; and his performance of the Matthäus-

Passion still features a wealth of dynamic and articulatory inflections – different in

degree, but not in kind, to those he applied in other repertoires.

One source of detailed prescriptions on romantic performance of one of Bach’s

great choral works is Henry Wood’s account of his performances of the Matthäus-

Passion (1938: 215-227). To the best of my knowledge, his Bach performances have

not been documented in sound recordings; but his detailed music examples give some

sense of what they might have sounded like. Later British recordings of the Passion

(Reginald Jacques, Ralph Vaughan Williams) reveal a similar spirit to that of Wood’s

recommendations. They feature mostly legato articulation and myriad dynamic

nuances, and highlight the occasional inner strand without guaranteeing consistent

clarity. Selective clarity is also typical of Romantic pianists’ approach, wherein

“unusual textures were usually brief intrusions into a style that was overwhelmingly

oriented towards singing melody” (Bazzana 1997: 148).

This is related to another key feature – the treatment of overall structures.

Performers who shape Bach’s music with large-scale patterns of tension and release,

or strive for dramatic climaxes, are likely to be “accused” of romanticism, especially

on the grounds of anachronism. However, as the previous paragraph indicates,

romanticism is also associated with dwelling on local details; a concern with shaping

a movement into a single, coherent whole might thus seem a “classicist” trend.

The Mass is more closely associated with large-scale genres than with piano

miniatures; thus, to treat it anachronistically is to treat it like Beethoven’s Missa

Solemnis (to cite the most obvious illustration). The concept of a large-scale, overall

structure is clearly relevant in this context. Furthermore, the question is not only

whether overall structure is taken as a central consideration, but also what means are

employed to project it. If striving for climaxes is conceived in dramatic terms, the

performance can be more properly viewed as “romantic” than if the same shape is

delineated by means of strictly-differentiated blocks (terraced dynamics) and a

deliberate restraint of dramatic gestures (see 7.3.2, pp. 185ff below).

Tempo also requires comment. Romantic performances are often described as

consistently slower. This is not, however, an obvious consequence of romantic

ideology. A belief in performative freedom, and in making the implicit explicit, could

lead into tempo extremes: a predictable caricature would be ponderous tempi in slow

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movements, breakneck speeds in fast movements, and an alternation between near-

metronomic strictness and long-range rubati.

In other repertoires, this has sometimes been the case (Philip 1992: 35). José

Bowen’s examination of recordings in various repertoires revealed that “there is no

overall trend to faster or slower tempos”, but rather a mixture of “all three possible

trends” – i.e., some works have been speeded up, others have been slowed down, and

in some works the average tempo has not changed (1996: 114). In Bach, however,

pre-HIP tempi do seem slower.3

This leads to a more general consideration. I attempted to define some aspects

of a romantic performance style of Bach; but, arguably, romantic ideology and

stylistic consistency are essentially at odds with each other. One possible reason why

some degree of consistency emerges nonetheless is the romantic reliance on intuition

– which often translates, in practice, to following the tradition one has absorbed

(Taruskin 1995: 78; Persson 2001: 284). On the other hand, compared with some of

the alternatives, romantic performers can seem more stylistically varied. The

definition of “romanticism” partly relies upon its differentiation from other

approaches; and it is this topic that I turn to next.

2.1.3. The mirror image: What romanticism is not

The most frequent antonyms to “romantic” with reference to Bach performance

are “objective” and “modern”/“modernist” (“classical”, an otherwise common

antonym, is not frequently used in this context). “Authentic”, “HIP” and “stylish” are

also frequently mentioned.

Taruskin famously identified HIP with objectivism and modernism,4 lending

credence to a “caricature” of HIP-modernism as “a consistent dogma based around

objectivism, positivism, geometricism, depersonalisation and the separability of the

aesthetic realm from all other aspects of life” (Butt 2002a: 132; cf. Taruskin 1995:

167, Bowen 1996: 76). Several terms in this list can be converted, via antonyms, into

definitions of romantic style and ideology: subjectivism, vitalism (T. E. Hulme, as

3 I only have detailed comprehensive timings for the B minor Mass; however, the impression is strengthened by a less systematic examination of other works by Bach. 4 The modernist source he usually alludes to is the compositions, performances and aesthetics of Stravinsky. He thus downplays other important modernist sources, e.g., Schoenberg (cf. Butt 2002a: 125-131).

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applied to musical performance in Taruskin 1995: 108-111), and strong

personalisation. One could also cite Taruskin’s characterisation of modernism as

“leery of the profound or the sublime” (1995: 167) – and its implicit association of

romanticism with the exultation of these attributes.

Taruskin, Bowen (1996, 1997) and others regard geometric modernism as

characteristic of post-war Western concert music performance in general, in all

repertoires. Aspects of “geometric” performance, however, began to emerge in

performances of Baroque music already in the 1930s; and their presence was not

necessarily justified with reference to modernist ideologies. Of the five elements in

Butt’s list, the three most easily audible in performance (objectivism, geometricism,

depersonalisation) are often associated with the Fifth Evangelist image, as it evolved

in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

Wilibald Gurlitt, for example, included a piercing attack on romantic Bach

performance in an article which extols the Thomaskantor Bach image (1951a: 76-77;

see also pp. 53f below). He views Bach as the guardian of an objectivist, expressively-

restrained aesthetics of composition and performance alike. He accuses 19th-century

composers of re-fashioning Bach in their own image, as a fellow painter and poet in

tones.5 The performance techniques associated with this latter aesthetics – crescendi

and diminuendi, tempo rubato – were also introduced into Bach performance,

distorting his contrapuntal essays into romantic character pieces.

Gurlitt viewed the example of Bach’s music as a defence against the excesses of

modernism (1951a: 80). Yet his prescriptions for Bach performance are remarkably

similar to those of modernists like Stravinsky. The two writers share a disdain towards

romanticism in Bach performance; they are surprisingly close in their description of

the problem, and suggest similar remedies. Modernism is therefore one appropriate

antonym to romanticism, but the performative traits associated with it are also linked

to other tropes in Bach reception.

In a recent lecture, John Butt (2002b) suggested the existence of “romantic

modernism” – seemingly a contradiction in terms. What he had in mind was the

5 Compare Schumann’s characterisation of Bach’s keyboard works as “character pieces of the highest order, at times genuinely poetic creations” (quoted in Stauffer 1997a: 207). Gurlitt was probably reacting to Schweitzer’s Bach interpretations as well. He might also have had in mind some of his colleagues, who discerned in prophetically expressive elements Bach’s music (e.g., Besseler 1970b; see also Adorno 1967: 138).

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application of romantic performance techniques in a manner removed from the

romantic ideology of performative freedom and individualism. The latter ideology

demands variety – turning features like vibrato and gradual dynamic inflection “on”

or “off’, and varying their intensity, in accordance to the desired level of expression.

“classical modernism” turns these features “off”. “Romantic modernism” turns some

of them “on” (e.g., equalised vibrato and legato) while restraining others (e.g.,

applying a wide dynamic range in a calculated, non-improvisatory manner). Both

types of “modernism” avoid spontaneity, preferring to project “an aura of

professionalism and specialism”.

These developments are not restricted to Bach; they are, broadly speaking, the

same developments described in Philip 1992 (see also Day 2000: chapter 3, esp. 149-

159). Butt, however, emphasises one aspect of this development: techniques that were

developed to emphasise moments of special expressive significance have become

stylistic norms, and their consistent application stands at odds with the aesthetic

purposes for which they were created (cf. Dahlhaus 1982: 95).

On the other hand, not all techniques intended to enhance expression can be

automatically dubbed “romantic”. Recent decades have seen the emergence of

alternative means of creating performative freedom and expression in Baroque music.

Under the guise of musical rhetoric (see chapter 4 below), performers sought to

project a +/+ approach without employing techniques commonly identified as

romantic: far from pursuing legato sostenuto, they aimed to project expression

through “small rhythmic-motivic cells that are shaped with strong gestures, creating

clearly articulated metric groups” (Fabian and Schubert 2002). This mode of

performance attempts to realise expressiveness without resorting to anachronistic

techniques; a study in listener responses (Fabian and Schubert 2000, 2002) suggests

that many listeners today are convinced by this. Even if the new “rhetorical” style has

its own anachronistic features (cf. 4.1.2, pp. 87ff below), they are not necessarily

derived from the 19th century.

To put it simplistically: Butt’s “romantic modernism” refers to the application

of romantic means without pursuing romantic ends; whereas Fabian and Schubert’s

“Baroque expressiveness” category refers to an attempt to achieve certain romantic

ends (primarily the projection of a +/+ approach) without resorting to romantic means.

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2.2. Romanticism in the Mass’s discography The value of categorisation is inference: “we can observe some of [an object’s]

properties, assign it to a category, and from the category predict properties that we

have not observed” (Pinker 1997: 307). Consequently, the danger of dubious

categorisation is false inference. An object might be assigned to a category on the

strength of just one criterion; on the basis of this false categorisation, it would then be

assumed to satisfy other criteria as well. The categorisation of Bach performances as

“romantic” often displays this weakness (e.g., a performance is perceived as aiming at

expressiveness; therefore it is labelled romantic; consequently it is deemed

anachronistic).

This is not to say that romanticism (or any other aesthetic category) should be

treated as an all-or-nothing designation. Rather, the questions are: what features in a

performance can be classified as romantic; and: when can one say that it has reached a

“critical mass” which makes its classification as romantic useful and defensible?

Romantic performances of Bach’s music are comparatively rare even when one

might expect them to be ubiquitous – that is, the pre-WW II era; and they are rarer

still in choral and orchestral repertoire. Even performers who are normally seen as

romantics often adopt more “classical” features in Bach’s music.

The two ends of the spectrum, in Bach’s choral music, are represented by

Willem Mengelberg’s and Günther Ramin’s recordings of the Matthäus-Passion.

Mengelberg’s range of dynamics, tempi and timbres is very wide; there are myriad

local inflections in all parameters. His performance clearly satisfies all three criteria

for romanticism: it is anachronistic in terms of contemporaneous received wisdom

on Baroque performance; it is geared towards maximising emotional expression; and

it reveals the conductor’s eagerness to stamp his own vision on the music.

Ramin’s performance reveals opposite tendencies. At the time, Ramin was

considered an authority on historical performance. He adhered to an x/- performance

aesthetics, and avoided strong personalised gestures. His performance is often

statuesque: he not only avoids overall shaping of movements, but often stops local

directionality in its tracks through the rigidity of his phrasing, articulation and

dynamics, which respond neither to melodic contours nor to harmonic patterns of

tension and resolution (see also pp. 54f below).

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Among recordings of the Passion made before 1950 (or after 1950 by artists

who represented earlier generations), only Vaughan Williams’s approaches

Mengelberg’s in its sheer density of tempo and dynamic modifications. Walter and

Furtwängler project a monumental conception reminiscent of Ramin’s;6 Koussevitzky

and Jacques steer a middle course.

Documentation for the Mass during this period is much sparser. The work’s first

complete recording (Coates 1929) is closer to Ramin than to Mengelberg. Dynamics

do not vary greatly, and while there is much local tempo fluctuation, there are few

long-range rubati (though the restrictions of 78rpm recording might have made these

harder to achieve). Similar characteristics are notable in the choral excerpts recorded

by Edward Bairstow in 1926. Robert Shaw’s 1947 recording is tidier than Coates’s,

and closer still to Ramin (see p. 65 below on Shaw’s subsequent development).

There are no recordings of the Mass that approach Mengelberg’s in sheer

density of local and large-scale inflections and nuances. There are, however,

recordings that come close (see chapter 6); and also recordings that have acquired a

reputation for romanticism without much justification.

2.2.1. Otto Klemperer: The objective “romanticist”

Klemperer is often portrayed as a romantic Bach performer (e.g., Gilmore 1970:

22; Daw 1981: 163n; Taruskin 1995: 136, quoted on p. 224f below). In my view,

represents a case of the term’s misapplication: in his ideology and practice alike,

Klemperer was far from romantic.

Peter Heyworth (1996a: 206) speaks of Klemperer’s “remarkable ability to span

the apparently irreconcilable worlds of expressionism and die neue Sachlichkeit”, his

“unique combination of romantic intensity and classical equilibrium”. Compared with

his prominent contemporaries, however, it is the “neue Sachlichkeit” and “classical

equilibrium” that stand out. His recordings attest to this: in all repertoires, he seems to

place cohesion and clarity (Unity, Complexity) above expressiveness (Intensity). He

often strives to delineate the music’s structure, but in a manner that seems more

“classical” than “romantic” (see p. 41 above).

6 Martin Geck (1967: 128) sees Furtwängler as part of a Wagnerian tradition. Furtwängler’s strict approach to dynamics and tempo in the Passion, however, is hardly consistent with his own approach to 19th-century music (cf. Golomb 1998).

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Klemperer identified Bach as an “objective” composer, whose aesthetics are

closer to those of Neue Sachlichkeit composers than to those of “romantic, subjective”

composers like Beethoven (Klemperer 1986: 102). He therefore viewed romantic

performance practices as anachronistic in Bach. In a 1942 article, he admitted to

having applied dynamic inflection to Bach’s music in his early performances. Since

then, however, he came to believe that Baroque music – including Bach’s – “demands

that the dynamics be simple, economical, and, above all, restrained” (ibid: 91).

Klemperer’s Bach performances in the 1920s and 1930s were characterised by

terraced dynamics, sparse string vibrato, small ensembles, light textures, “lithe

rhythms”, an absence of ornamentation, and considerable attention to textural clarity

(Heyworth 1996a: 299-300; see also reviews cited in 298-301, 318-319, 386, 391).

These traits partly represent the direct influence of Günther Ramin, who played

harpsichord continuo in Klemperer’s performances of the Johannes-Passion (1929)

and the B minor Mass (1932) and acted as Klemperer’s musicological adviser.7

Klemperer’s 1960s Bach recordings are consistent with his stated ideology and

with critics’ descriptions of his earlier performance – except, perhaps, on the matter of

textural lightness. His approach to the Mass is not as strict and unyielding as that of

the Leipzig school (see chapter 3). His dynamics, while narrow, are not as

consistently rigid; there are fewer instances of (down)beat bashing; the sonorities in

some places (e.g., Christe eleison, Domine deus, Et in unum) are rounder and lighter.

There are a few instances of clear build-up of tension and release across an entire

movement (see also p. 189 below). Yet Klemperer often avoids local directionality,

retains a firm grip on tempo and dynamics, and allows little dramatic contrast.

In the absence of recordings, it is impossible to know how much Klemperer’s

approach to Bach has changed as a consequence of his encounter with Ramin, and

what further changes have taken place thereafter. It is not unreasonable to assume,

however, that his 1960s recordings reflect something of his 1920s approach. At that

time, neither his supporters nor his detractors categorised him as a “romantic”; and

7 Klemperer spoke highly of Ramin’s contribution in the latter capacity in his “Address to the Berlin Philharmonic Chorus”, December 5, 1932 (Klemperer 1982: 48, translated in Klemperer 1986: 67). Both concerts were dedicated to the memory of Siegfried Ochs, the choir’s founder-director. Ochs’s Bach style was full of pathos; he employed “massive forces”, and his annotated scores featured “a forest of dynamic hairpins” (Heyworth 1996a: 317; see also Schweitzer 1911, II: 247, 325, 418, 443). In seeking and accepting Ramin’s advice, Klemperer allied himself with a more restrained, literalist approach.

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very few writers, at any period, consider him a romantic in other repertoires. His

approach bears the clear hallmarks of “objectivism [...] geometricism,

depersonalisation” (Butt 2002a: 132) and literalism – all characteristics of modernism.

Klemperer’s reputation as a romanticist is therefore, in my view, an illustration

of the dangers of categorisation based on false inference: the observation of one

criterion for romanticism (anachronism) led to mistaken attribution of the other two.

By 1960s standards, Klemperer’s approach was already beginning to seem

anachronistic – an impression that intensified after his death, as HIP grew more

influential. He also bore some of the external hallmarks of romanticism (e.g.,

relatively heavy sonorities, slow tempi). However, given the consistency and

steadiness with which he applied them, Butt’s “romantic modernism” might be a

better categorisation of these aspects than just-plain “romanticism”.

Arguably, an even better example for “romantic modernism” can be found in

Herbert von Karajan’s recordings of the Mass. In recent scholarship, Karajan is

sometimes cited among the earliest and most influential representatives of modernism

(Bowen 1996: 132-134, 142; Lowe 2000: 210). His 1952 Mass was hailed as

revelatory at the time (Robertson 1954; Randolph 1955). More recently, it was

described as presaging later developments in Bach performance: lightness of textures

and articulation, faster and stricter tempi, restraint in dynamics (Freeman-Attwood

2002: 26-27). This last quality is strongly expressed in Karajan’s frequent refusal to

build up movements: even when he seems to start a crescendo, it would frequently

dissipate rather than reach its peak (for example, his Et in terra, Cum sancto spiritu,

Gratias, Resurrexit; see, however, p. 187 below). In Butt’s terminology, this is akin to

“classical modernism”.

Karajan’s second recording (1974), however, seems to return to “romantic

modernism”: cloudy textures and restrained gestures are now associated with heavy,

opulent sonorities and smoother articulation. Karajan thus seems to move in the

opposite direction to general developments in Bach performance. This apparent

disregard for performance-practice research (and fashion) might seem romantic

(endorsement of anachronism and personal intuition). Carlo Maria Giulini displayed a

similar direction of change: his live 1974 concert in St. Paul’s Cathedral displayed

greater care for textural clarity than his 1994 commercial recording (despite the

latter’s more disciplined chorus and less reverberant recording). This is especially

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noteworthy in light of several “Lutheran” conductors’ tendency to keep in step with

developments in performance practice (see 3.2, pp. 68ff below).

2.2.2. Eugen Jochum: Genuine romanticism?

Jochum’s reputation as a romanticist was more consistent than Klemperer’s (not

to mention Karajan’s). Jochum himself was uneasy with the application of the term

“romantic” to his Bach performances (Jochum 1990: 13-14) – even though it was

sometimes used as praise (e.g., Michelsen 1959). In some ways, his two recordings of

the Mass come closest to satisfying my three criteria for romanticism; yet even here,

some objections can be raised.

Jochum employs more moment-to-moment nuances, displays a greater timbral

variety and a greater willingness for tempo inflections than Klemperer. This is true

whether we discuss Bach or Bruckner. But in Bruckner, the differences are radical; in

Bach, they are understated. Klemperer treats Bruckner and Mahler with almost the

same calculation and deliberation he applies to Bach; whereas Jochum treats Bach as

a special case, avoiding performative-expressive techniques which are ubiquitous in

his performances of later repertoire.

Compared to other Bach conductors, however, Jochum displays strongly

romantic tendencies. His ostensibly anachronistic features are mostly the same as

Klemperer’s (p. 48 above), though he also retained symphonic forces when Klemperer

opted for a smaller ensemble. In Jochum’s case, however, these features are

associated with specific care for emotional expression, and with some strongly

personalised gestures (the most notable example in the Mass being the massive

ritardando in Et in unum, bars 60ff).

For one illustration of these tendencies, consider the Agnus dei in Jochum’s

1957 recording, especially in comparison with Richter’s 1961 recording, which

represents a more objectivist tradition (see chapter 3). Both performances feature the

same singer (Hertha Töpper).

Jochum’s Agnus dei, while it does contain examples of terracing (especially the

subito piano at bar 31), proceeds mostly by gradual changes of dynamics and tempo,

and these occur in vocal and instrumental parts alike. Richter’s Agnus dei is more

variegated than other movements in his own performance, but his approach seems

measured and deliberate when compared with Jochum’s. His own subito piano in bar

31 stands out as a unique moment in an otherwise starker context. Töpper, too,

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employs a narrower dynamic range, and a more deliberate and calculated approach

(fewer slides, more accentuations of individual notes, as if placing each in a pre-

determined frame) in Richter’s performance.

The differences between Jochum and Klemperer are more subtle, especially in

comparison with Jochum 1980. Jochum’s overall vision of the work has not radically

changed between his two recordings, but most of the changes involve a tightening of

parameters: the choir is firmer and less wobbly, dynamic and tempo fluctuations are

often smaller and more calculated. Even this performance, however, remains more

flexible than Klemperer’s.

In sum, Jochum comes closer than most “mainstream” Bach conductors to

satisfying the criteria for romanticism. Even he, however, displays a certain amount of

restraint, and his romanticism is more apparent in some movements than in others.

Another possible candidate for “romantic Bach” is Hermann Scherchen. His two

recordings of the Mass come closest to realising pre-war practices: looser ensemble,

greater degree of momentary tempo fluctuations, and a lack of concern with internal

stylistic consistency. Scherchen’s readings of the First Kyrie are the slowest on record

– whereas his readings of the Domine deus are among the fastest and lightest. There

are some unique gestures, which place Scherchen high on the “personalisation” scale

(e.g., delaying the return to a tempo in Qui sedes until the final ritornello). Similarly,

his generally flexible approach to tempo throws into sharper relief his occasional

employment of almost metronomic rigidity, especially in the 1950 recording (e.g.,

Gloria, Resurrexit, first Osanna). Paradoxically, such inconsistency makes it hard to

classify particular movements as “romantic”, but strengthens the appropriateness of

that label to the performance as a whole (see p. 42 above).

2.3. Summary

My purpose in this chapter was to find a meaningful definition of romanticism

in the context relevant for this dissertation: Bach performance since 1950. According

to my proposed definition, a performance has to satisfy three criteria to qualify as

“romantic”: anachronism (in comparison with what was deemed “stylish” or

“historical” at the time of the performance), expressiveness (adherence to x/x, x/+ or

+/+), and the pursuit of a strongly projected, personal interpretation. By these criteria,

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one might conclude that the Mass’s discography contains very few romantic

performances.

I hope to have demonstrated the viability of my criteria, as well as the problems

that arise when a performance is judged romantic on the basis of just one or two of

them. I am aware that further reservations can be raised, especially if one takes into

account the term’s complex history. For example, the ideal that performers should

negate their own personalities and place themselves entirely in the service of the

composer is also romantic in origin (Taruskin 1995: 9-10; Goehr 1996: 4-14; Bowen

1997; Butt 2002a: 134-135). In the context of later 20th-century discourse, however,

this ideal is usually referred to by other terms (e.g., modernism, classicism,

literalism); most critics and performers, when they speak of romanticism in

performance, no longer have this aspect of historical romanticism in mind.

My three-criteria approach attempts to make sense of the term’s current usage

while retaining its usefulness as a performance-stylistic category. The aim is not

simply to divide performances into “romantic” and “non-romantic”, but also to be

able to point to romantic and non-romantic features within the same performance.

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3. Bach as Lutheran: Karl Richter and Helmuth Rilling In his classification of the “spectrum of Bach interpretation”, Helmuth Rilling

cites three main trends: the symphonic tradition, historical performance, and “church

choirs, and congregational instrumental ensembles, primarily in Protestant (Lutheran)

churches” (1985: 4). He identifies most closely with the latter (ibid: 5, 15). Since

Bach himself was a Lutheran and, for a significant part of his life, director of music at

a Lutheran church, present-day directors of similar institutions believe they have a

unique intuitive grasp of the message he sought to communicate in his church music

(Baumgartner 1999: 15-19).

Some of these church ensembles remained loyal to the all-male chorus. These

include the two institutions that claim continuity with Bach’s own tradition: the

Thomanerchor (Thomaskirche, Leipzig) and the Kreuzchor (Kreuzkirche, Dresden).

Some musicians in these establishments took part in the revival of historical

performance practices. Their adoption of historical research was combined, however,

with a belief in the validity of living traditions.

A newer alternative was represented by the Kantorei tradition: mixed chamber

choruses, usually linked to the church, yet also having aspirations for historicity.

Wilhelm Ehmann (1961: 7-8), himself part of this tradition, traces these choirs, and

the chamber orchestras that accompanied them, to the 1930s Jugendbewegung. This

movement placed a premium on the participatory aspect of musical performance,

sometimes rejecting professionalism altogether, and expressing a preference for

simple, direct music (P. Potter 1998: 8). It embraced Bach as a didactic composer, and

explained away polyphony as a symbol of social integration. Its attitude to expression

approached -/-, praising Bach’s music for its detachment and avoidance of

individualism (Hiemke 2000: 75-83).

This philosophy is mostly associated with the first half of the 20th century,

especially the 1930s and 1940s. Much of it is clearly irrelevant for the musical

institutions I propose to discuss here: Richter and Rilling alike insisted on high

professional standards. However, the Jugendbewegung’s austere, -/- view converged

on other prominent Bach images – not least the image promoted by the Leipzig

School, with which Richter and Rilling were both closely connected.

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3.1. Karl Richter

3.1.1. Background: The Leipzig school

For the purposes of this chapter, the Leipzig or Saxon school is defined as the

circle of performers associated with the Thomanerchor in Leipzig (directed by Karl

Straube, 1918-1940; Günther Ramin, 1940-1956; Kurt Thomas, 1956-1960; Erhard

Mauersberger, 1961-1971) and the Kreuzchor in Dresden (directed by Rudolf

Mauersberger, 1931-1971), and scholars associated with them (notably Arnold

Schering and Wilibald Gurlitt).

These musicians’ approach to Bach covered the x/- spectrum. Schering’s

approach was +/-. He believed that Bach’s music was rich in expressive, symbolic and

semantic content (see p. 87 below), and argued that modern listeners only have a

limited understanding of Bach’s musical rhetoric (Schering 1941: 71). When writing

on performance, however, Schering argued that Bach’s musical affect was always

expressed in clear melodic gestures, which should not be projected too forcefully

(1936a: 188). He advocates the use of boy choristers and soloists, who sing clearly

and simply, with introverted, unexaggerated attention to meaning; and he ascribes this

preference to Bach himself (1931: 171; 1936a: 187-188; 1974: 88-89).

According to Schering (1974: 87-88), Lutheran church music is based on an

adaptation of Italian seconda pratica music (itself conceived for theatrical, virtuoso

singers) to the demands of Lutheran church choirs. German composers had to invest

more expressiveness within the music as it was notated, to make it performance-proof.

Bach therefore wrote his music with the limitations and virtues of amateur forces in

mind; +/-, not +/+, was the proper model for conveying his musical message. This

view might be related to the Jugendmusikbewegung’s image of Bach.

The ideal of performative restraint is also present in Gurlitt’s writings, but his

ideal approaches -/- (see also p. 43 above). Gurlitt’s Bach image is conservative.1 For

him, Bach’s virtues are solidity, strictness and severity; polyphonic Complexity and

architectural Unity keep emotional, personalised Intensity under control (1951a: 75). 1 This included a portrayal of Bach as a primarily German composer, who resisted foreign influences (Gurlitt 1957: 64, 70; 1959), and on whom Saxony still had a special claim (1951a: 51-52). Gurlitt 1951a was a keynote address at a Leipzig conference, intended partly to counter-balance the secularised image presented by the Russian and East-German contingent (e.g. Chubow 1951; see also Eller 1995: 127-131; Wehrmeyer and Poldiaeva 2000: 192). On Gurlitt’s relationship with the Nazi regime, see Herz 1985: xvii-xx; Kater 1997: 153, 172; P. Potter 1998: 103-104, 107, 118-119.

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He regards restraint and sacrality as essential features of Bach’s society and

personality alike, and presents Bach as a beacon of order and rationality (ibid: 79).

Gurlitt’s and Schering’s visions converge on a similar prescription for Bach

performance. Schering’s notion of the ideal boys’ choir was inspired by Straube’s

Thomanerchor; and Straube and Ramin alike were enthusiastic collaborators in

Gurlitt’s efforts to re-build Baroque organs and re-introduce them into Bach

performance (the so-called Orgelbewegung). The Leipzig school was at the vanguard

of “historical performance” in the 1940s and 1950s, lending an aura of historical

authenticity to their austere aural image of Bach’s music. They were probably also

among the main targets of attack and ridicule from opponents of historicism at the

time. Ramin, for example, represented most of the features which Theodor Adorno

rejected: advancing the Bach-as-Thomaskantor image; restoring original keyboard

instruments; presenting “school choirs” as an ideal vehicle for Bach’s vocal music;

cultivating uniform intensity, terraced dynamics and literalism (Adorno 1967: 143-

145). Likewise, Adorno’s characterisation of the Devotees’ Bach image (ibid: 135-

136) precisely enumerates the main points in Gurlitt 1951a.

In his own writings, Ramin attempts to reconcile the religious-conservative

image with a more inclusive vision, but his emphasis remained firmly on Bach as a

religious composer.2 He denied the presence of overtly secular or operatic elements in

Bach’s church music, and praised it for embodying the perfect balance of form and

content, objectivity and expression (Ramin 1973e: 58).3

These views are reflected in his performances, which often display the

Gurlittian virtues of severity, strictness and a deliberate avoidance of colour.4 He

occasionally employs rubati, but other parameters tend to be stable, even static: there

is little sense of ebb and flow. He sometimes applies sharper articulation (including

2 Straube and Ramin strove to re-introduce Bach into the liturgy, despite resistance from within the church and from the Nazi and (especially) Communist regimes (Stiller 1973; Hellmann 1990; Hübner 1995; Elste 2000: 48-49; see, however, Hanke 1995: 263). For a more critical view of the Thomaskantors’ role during the Nazi period, see Kater 1997: 174-176. 3 He also proposed Bach’s restrained expressiveness as a source of inspiration for young people (ibid: 61-62). This position reflects, perhaps, the lingering effect of the Jugendmusikbewegung ideology. 4 This last element could be attributed to poor recording quality. Ramin’s cantata recordings were done with little or no rehearsal, and no opportunities for editing. However, his recording of the Johannes-Passion was done in studio, with multiple takes and generous editing sessions (Dieter Ramin 1999).

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melismatic aspiration)5 to enhance clarity; he thus exposes the music’s building

blocks, but blocks they remain. His basic parameters are often those associated with

performative expression (intense vocal and instrumental production, legato

articulation, slow tempi). But the peak of intensity is often reached at the beginning,

leaving little room for change and development. Ramin described Bach’s own

approach to expression as “Über-persönlich”, rather than “Unpersönlich” (ibid). This

description can also be applied to Ramin’s performance style, which is often

unyielding in its monumentality (see also p. 7 above).

3.1.2. Richter’s premises

Karl Richter was closely associated with the Leipzig school when its reputation

as authentic upholder of Bach’s tradition was in the ascendant. In 1937, the 11-year-

old Richter joined the Dresden Kreuzchor. He subsequently served as prefect and

assistant to the choir’s Kantor, Rudolf Mauersberger, whilst studying organ with

Straube in Leipzig. Ramin appointed him organist at the Thomaskirche in 1949, and

frequently employed him as continuo harpsichordist (Wörner 2001: 35-37, 91-93).

Richter shared his mentors’ view of Bach as a staunch Lutheran. This image

arguably fitted Richter even more than it did Bach. Richter was the son of a pastor;

testimonials from clergy at the Markuskirche in Munich (Friedrich Kalb, in Thieke

1982), fellow-musicians (e.g., Auréle Nicolet, ibid) and family (ibid; Tobias Richter

1986) attest to his interest in Lutheran theology and his conservative faithfulness to

the Lutheran heritage. Richter attached great emotional significance to his post as

Kantor and organist in a Lutheran church, holding to it tenaciously despite the

difficulty of balancing it with his international performance career. The contrast with

Bach (who sought a higher title than that of a mere Kantor) is telling.

Richter’s departure to Munich in 1951 was often described as the formation of a

“Leipzig der Bundesrepublik” (Wörner 2001: 49). His earlier recordings, however,

reveal that he adopted his own stylistic path shortly after launching his independent

conducting career in the West (see also p. 58 below).

When he became Kantor of the Markuskirche, Richter took the directorship of

the church’s mixed choir, the Heinrich Schütz Kreis. He quickly expanded it, and in

5 The word “aspiration”, used in the context of choral singing, comes from the verb to “aspirate”. It refers to the use of syllables like “he-he-he” in melismas.

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1954 renamed it the Münchener Bach-Chor. His subsequent international reputation

was closely linked with this choir, which continued to perform in regular church

services despite its intensive schedule of tours and recordings (Wörner 2001: 49-51).6

The Bach-as-Lutheran image clearly shaped much of Richter’s approach to the

composer’s oeuvre. He considered sacred cantatas central to Bach’s music and his

own life alike (Müller 1968; Wörner 2001: 11; Harnoncourt et al. 1972: 27), while

virtually neglecting the secular cantatas. In 1970, he launched a project akin to Bach’s

Jahrgänge, recording over 60 cantatas in albums arranged according to the church

calendar (see discography for this chapter).

While rejecting the ascetic, x/- ideal, Richter did believe that Bach’s music

should be treated differently from later music. He described rubati, crescendi and

diminuendi as romantic, and therefore inappropriate for Bach’s music, and claimed

that his choir’s light voices and narrow vibrato make it ideal for Bach, but not

necessarily for later repertoires (in Müller 1968). The one means of expression

Richter did sanction – on the authority of Straube and Ramin – was legato (ibid; see

also Wörner 2001: 22-24, 44-46). His organ students had to join his choir in order to

learn how to sing Bach (see also ibid: 16). He also encouraged string vibrato (ibid:

14), and the use of terraced dynamic contrasts for special effect (ibid: 29).

Richter’s prescriptions left little room for shaping and modulating expression in

the course of a performance: he explicitly rejected two means of differentiation

(modification of tempo and dynamics), and implicitly rejected a third (articulation).

This apparent demand for uniformity and rigidity, however, stands at odds with his

belief in the spontaneity of interpretation, and in realising music’s expressive

potential. In rehearsals, Richter reputedly tried out different interpretations, without

necessarily deciding which option would be chosen for the concert (ibid: 17-21). This

signifies a fundamental aversion to the idea of single correct interpretation, or a fixed

manner of realisation. To be meaningful, this questing approach had to incorporate

more options than the guidelines described above could provide.

Similarly, Richter never endorsed x/- philosophy. Despite his background as a

boy chorister, he believed that only mixed, adult vocal forces could produce the

powerfully expressive style which Bach’s music demands (ibid: 11-12, 25). He claims

6 After Richter’s death, the choir severed its connections with the Markuskirche, and the church subsequently formed its own choir (Roland Wörner, personal communication).

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to have sought a style that would underline musical patterns of tension and release

(ibid: 16). It is not clear how this could be achieved when rubati, crescendi and

diminuendi are off-limits; in later years, Richter came close to admitting the paradox

(1978: 73).

Richter also questioned musicology’s relevance for performance (ibid; Wörner

2001: 10, 12-13). In terms of instrumental reconstruction, he did not go beyond what

he learned in Leipzig. His employment of a Baroque organ7 represented a

continuation of Orgelbewegung mentors. Although he was aware of Leonhardt’s

revival of the Baroque harpsichord,8 he remained loyal to the “modern”, Neupert

instrument. He was not consistent in adhering to Bach’s original instrumentation, and

saw little point in reconstructing historical instruments. He employed fairly large

ensembles.9 His choice of editions did not reflect an attempt to keep himself up to

date with musicological research. His reputation as a historical performer was largely

manufactured for him; he himself had few such pretensions (see also Anderson, in

Boyd 1999: 415-416; Freeman-Attwood 2002: 37-39).

3.1.3. Richter’s practices

Richter’s reputation is rife with contradictions. He has been praised as a precise

musician, whose clarity and sobriety were a welcome relief from romanticism – and

as an intuitive, expressive musician. These contradictions are sometimes explained

away in terms of changing fashions; Roger Clement (1996), for example, claims that

Richter projected “a cool, brisk, almost abstract attitude toward the music”, and was

only labelled romantic in comparison with the younger generation of HIP musicians.

It should be noted, however, that Richter was perceived as a dramatic, expressive

artist in comparison with conductors like Fritz Werner, long before Harnoncourt and

Leonhardt were viewed as serious contenders (e.g., Westphal 1965, Koegler 1969).

7 At the Markuskirche, he commissioned the construction of a “Bach organ”, completed by Ott in 1965, in addition to the church’s existing 1936 Steinmeyer organ (Wörner 2001: 57-58). 8 Richter invited Harnoncourt and Leonhardt to appear at the Munich Bach Festival (Mertl 1999: 156; Wörner 2001: 57). 9 The Münchener Bach-Chor consisted of about 120 members; at any given concert, the number of singers was usually about 80 (Müller 1968). It was thus smaller than several choral societies, and similar in size to the Dresden Kreuzchor and the Leipzig Thomanerchor; but it was larger than the Heinrich-Schütz-Kreis (its predecessor) and Rilling’s Gächinger Kantorei, not to mention the chamber choruses employed in Shaw’s Bach recordings, and in Klemperer’s 1967 Mass.

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An alternative explanation is that Richter’s own style changed. Freeman-

Attwood (2000: 36-38) and Anderson (in Boyd 1999: 415) observe a shift towards

greater opulence and expansiveness, greater intensity of sound, and a loss of textural

clarity and dramatic impact. Wörner (2001: 26) observes an increasing tendency

towards slower tempi (see also Worbs 1985: 22).

A third explanation argues that Richter’s style combines romantic and non-

romantic features throughout. Peter Johnson (1999: 99) regards Richter’s style as the

primary example of “the performance topos of ‘reverence’”, characterised by “even

line”, “thick textures”, slow and steady tempi, and heavy rhythmic articulation,

“lending to the music an air of sobriety and, surely, of authority”. This topos

combines romantic features with an anti-romantic consistency and rigidity; it largely

falls within the spectrum of “romantic modernism” (p. 43 above).

In my view, there is truth in all these interpretations. Richter’s style always

contained “modernist” and “romantic” features, but the balance gradually changed.

His early style is characterised by accuracy and rigidity. In some parameters, he

remained loyal to his mentors (e.g., the employment of terraced dynamics). In other

respects, however, he forged his own style. A comparison between Richter’s and

Ramin’s recordings of the Passions and of several cantatas reveals this clearly:

Richter’s tempi are usually faster and tighter, his articulation more incisive, his

textures lighter and clearer, his dynamics more varied. Some of the elements he

reacted against (slow tempi, legato articulation) were common to both the “Lutheran”

and the “symphonic” traditions. By the 1970s, he became, by his own standards,

increasingly expressive (more frequent use of legato) and romantic (greater flexibility

of tempo and dynamics). As Wörner (2001: 26) notes, this change took place when

Bach performance was moving in the opposite direction.

If one nonetheless attempts to characterise Richter’s stylistic ideals throughout

his career, the two concepts that come to mind are hierarchy and internal consistency.

Both can be related to a near-axiomatic adherence to the Bach-as-ordered-equilibrium

image, and the consequent requirements of clarity and unity of affect.

3.1.3.1. Tempo

Richter’s tempi are usually slow, at least in comparison to later performers

(though initially he preferred faster tempi than those of his mentors). His most

consistent feature, however, is the strict, rigid adherence to a movement’s initial

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tempo: Richter vividly illustrates the “relative equalization of the beats” which Cone

(1968: 70) described as the obvious ideal for Baroque music.

3.1.3.2. Articulation

Internal uniformity also characterises Richter’s articulation. His slow

movements usually feature the “continuous legato, prominent vibrato, fully held

notes, greater overall intensity, and long phrases” which Fabian (2003: 219) observes

in many other performers of his generation. In faster movements, he frequently resorts

to incisive, staccato articulation, reserving legato for more expressive movements.

Another common articulation, especially in moderate-to-fast movements, is tenuto

non legato: notes are extended to full values, but clearly separated from one another.

Once parameters are set, they remain constant. Changes in the basic articulation (if

any) are employed like terrace dynamics: they differentiate between phrases, but do

not contribute to internal shaping thereof.

The rigid effect cannot be accounted for in terms of articulation alone, however:

it remains even where there is clear internal articulatory variety in a phrase (e.g.,

BWV 180/1), because of the relative strictness of the dynamics. In lightly scored

movements with “walking” or pizzicato bass (e.g., BWV 180/2, BWV 182/8, BWV

78/4, BWV 30/5), Richter’s approach is seemingly light: the articulation is non legato

without heavy accentuation, the dynamics and timbre soft. Tempo and dynamics,

however, are rigid, with no differentiation between strong and weak beats. For

listeners who associate lightness with ebb-and-flow, these readings would sound

static, and would therefore retain a certain heaviness.

Richter’s approach to articulation thus reflects his unity-of-affect aesthetics. His

overall range of articulation is wide. However, this variety is usually observable

across several movements, rather than within single movements or phrases.

3.1.3.3. Clarity and timbre

Clarity was a priority for Richter, and this feature might well reflect his Saxon

legacy. It motivated his choice of younger, lighter voices for his choir, as well as the

training he gave them (Müller 1968). The choir’s sound is more focused and clean,

with much less vibrato, than that of contemporaneous choirs. Depending on Richter’s

demands, it could acquire a harsh, shrill quality or a softer timbre.

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Richter’s soloists were often more opulent in sound. This did not constitute a

departure from the traditions he emerged from; indeed, he shared many soloists with

“symphonic” and “church” conductors alike. Even the Kantors at Leipzig and

Dresden ignored Schering’s arguments (cited on p. 53 above) against the employment

of female soloists and operatic singers in Bach’s music.

3.1.3.4. Dynamics and hierarchy

Even in earlier recordings, Richter occasionally departed from strict terraced

dynamics. In later years, he became increasingly willing to construct long-range

dynamic arches. Distinct ebb-and-flow within a single phrase, and different dynamic

contours in simultaneously occurring voices, remain rare throughout his discography.

The overall range of a single recording could be very wide, with abrupt

transitions from fortissimo to subito pianissimo. The effect of a Richter forte can be

overpowering – especially when associated with strident sonorities (from choir and

organ alike) and dynamic harshness; and the switch to subito piano is a strongly

dramatic effect, especially after the preceding changelessness.

In arias, subito piano often served to silence the orchestra, allowing the

soloist(s) to occupy centre-stage. In most cases, this was the result of literal

application of forte/piano indications in the score (on the problematic nature of such

literalism, see Fabian 2003: 124-133). The orchestra usually remains audible even

when playing piano, but the sense of hierarchy is inescapable.

This is part of Richter’s general pursuit of clear textural hierarchy. Occasionally

(e.g., BWV 78/1), he distinguished between different thematic materials, allowing one

theme prominence wherever it appeared in the texture. More typically, he forged a

hierarchy between elements in the texture: primacy given to the vocal element, then to

the obbligati parts, then to the strings, and finally to the bass. This affected not only

dynamics and balance (which might be attributed to the recording team) but also the

degree of detailed phrasing. Especially in arias, the soloists sing with greater range of

articulation and dynamics, and the instrumentalists’ phrasing is more detailed when

the voice is silent. This is evident most consistently in Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau’s

arias (see also Golomb 2001).

In theory, Richter rejected crescendi and diminuendi as inappropriate

romanticism (see p. 56 above). In practice, he employed them to highlight movements

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(or moments) which he considered especially expressive or worthy of special

attention. Deviations from internally set hierarchies were treated in a similar manner.

3.1.3.5. The overall aesthetics: The “Über-persönlich”

Clear examples of interpretive flexibility are more common in Richter’s arias

than in his choruses. He allows his soloists more leeway in terms of gradual dynamics

and varied articulation, and his accompaniments sometimes reflect this. This approach

lends an aura of austerity and strictness to many of Richter’s recordings when

combined with another tendency: to choose choir over soloists when the scoring is

ambiguous.10 In the chorale-and-recitative BWV 92/7 and BWV 178/5, for instance,

the “recitative” passages are performed with rhythmic evenness and dynamic rigidity.

The comparison with BWV 27/1 is instructive: there, Richter allows an alternation

between chorus and soloists, and the latter’s recitatives are more flexible, in dynamics

and articulation alike, than the choir’s harsh rendering of the chorale.

Two possible explanations for this solo/chorus distinction come to mind. The

first is that Richter found +/+ more appropriate for the private, individualised arias

than for the more public choruses. If this was his reasoning, one could expect him to

treat chorales with special severity. For the most part, he indeed performs them with

loud, static dynamics and strident sonorities.11 But there are notable exceptions: the

concluding chorales of cantatas 27 and 60, for example, are constructed as wide-

ranged, continuous crescendi, which can easily be labelled “romantic”.

Alternatively, one could cite the fact that Richter worked with a large, amateur

choir; the work required to get them to produce a clean sound and textural clarity

made it more difficult to produce the kind of flexibility that could be achieved with

professional soloists. The wider dynamic range in the aforementioned chorales was

more easily achieved thanks to their homophonic textures. This explanation, however,

fails to account for Richter’s choice of choral forces when soloists were a viable

10 Examples include: the penultimate movement of the Weihnachts-Oratorium; the “suscepit Israel” from the Magnificat; the opening duet in BWV 44/1; the chorales BWV 6/3, BWV 13/3. He also ignores solo/tutti distinctions in cantatas 21, 23, 24 and 76, even though these appear in his chosen edition (the Bach-Gesellschaft). One exception is the use of a soloist in BWV 140/4. 11 His 1968 reading of BWV 4 (with the exception of Fischer-Dieskau’s rendition of the bass aria – the only solo number in this performance) is a case in point.

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option.12 Furthermore, there are exceptions to the rules described above – flexible

choral performances, rigid renditions of arias. This suggests that Richter’s choices

reflected artistic judgement, not constraints imposed by his choir and orchestra (which

consisted of performers hand-picked by Richter himself). In arias, the judgement

might well have been the soloists’, rather than Richter’s own.

Even in more flexible moments, Richter usually avoids clear directionality. His

style is not phlegmatic or lacking in purpose – quite the contrary: the sense is constant

presence. The expressive parameters are fully established at the beginning of the

movement (or phrase), leaving no need or possibility for further development or

intensification, or for creating a sense of ebb-and-flow.

Richter gradually shed his harshness in his later years – along with much of his

rhythmic vitality, which often depended on a consistent staccato articulation. His

1979 Matthäus-Passion, in particular, is characterised by greater dynamic nuance and

rounder rhythmic profiles, compared to his 1958 version; by Richter’s own standards,

this version of the Passion is more expressive and more romantic than its predecessor.

3.1.4. Richter’s B minor Mass

Richter’s stylistic development is not quite reflected in his recordings of the

Mass; the Matthäus-Passion gives a better panorama of his evolution. At least three

recordings survive for both works; but those of the Mass cover a span of nine years

(1961-1969), as opposed to twenty-two years (1958-1979) covered by the Passion.

However, even in the Mass, there are some startling differences – suggesting, among

other things, that the context of a performance (studio vs. live) is at least as important

a factor in Richter’s performance as the stage in his own life.

Richter made two commercial recordings of the B minor Mass: the 1961 audio

recording, and the 1969 televised version. In April-May 1969, Richter and his forces

toured Japan, giving performance of the Mass, both passions and a several cantatas

and orchestral works (Wörner 2001: 127). Japanese Television (NHK) recorded one

12 Richter was probably unaware of, or unimpressed by, Schering’s and Ehmann’s research on concertists and ripienists; he operated within the standard choral paradigm, which still dominates even most HIP readings. It should also be noted that he often avoided soloistic textures in his orchestra (cf. BWV 248/41: Richter accompanies this tenor aria, usually accompanied by two solo violins, with full string sections).

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of their performances of the Mass, which Archiv released on CD after Richter’s

death.13

Richter’s “signature” recording of the Mass (Archiv 1961) represents him at his

most austere, strict, stratified and hierarchical. The choral sound is mostly bright and

harsh. Tempi are strict, dynamics often unyieldingly terraced. Directionality is

avoided. Textural clarity is often exemplary, especially in the choir. The

überpersönlich view of Bach is clearly reflected throughout.

This strictness could be related to the date of the recording (coming from a

relatively early stage of Richter’s career, generally characterised by greater rigidity).

The nature of the work might also have affected the performance style: given his

general tendency to treat choruses more strictly than arias, it is not surprising that a

predominantly choral work would present a sterner profile. The arias too, however,

are in Richter’s stricter vein, and one could relate his view of the Mass to the more

general tendencies to regard this work as more monumental and less expressive than

many of Bach’s other works (see 1.3.2, pp. 27ff above).

The 1961 version was not recorded in sequence. The NHK version was recorded

live in a single concert, with no editing. To judge by the distant, highly reverberant

sound, little or no attempt was made at correcting and balancing what the

microphones picked up, either by the original recording team or by Archiv’s re-

mastering team; applause, however, was excised.

The video version is a studio recording, with no audience. All performers are

visibly present throughout. However, in most movement-to-movement transitions, the

performers are invisible, and the camera focuses instead on the church’s frescos or

statues. It is possible, therefore, that the work was recorded out of sequence, or at least

with longer gaps between movements. It was probably not a single-take performance.

3.1.4.1. Richter 1961 compared to other performances

In addition to his own recordings, Richter also appears in another, albeit partial

recording: an LP of excerpts from Günther Ramin’s performance of the Mass on July

28, 1950, the 200th anniversary of Bach’s death (see discography). This performance

13 There also exists a CD of a 1968 Moscow performance, but I have not been able to consult a copy of this version.

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forms one obvious source of comparison between Richter and his tradition. Two other

recordings can also be used for this purpose: Mauersberger 1958 and Thomas 1955.14

Mauersberger’s primary concerns are clarity, proportion and control. There is

little trace of Ramin’s überpersönlich approach. He applies a similar articulation

throughout: mild staccato with distinct yet not overbearing accentuation. His

dynamics are almost consistently static. He achieves remarkable clarity, even in the

most complex vocal textures (e.g., First Kyrie, Confiteor). Whether he facilitates the

tracing of inner lines, however, is debatable: the consistent separation of notes, and

the avoidance of dynamic progression, arguably do not allow notes to coalesce into

lines (or leave the assembly work entirely to the listener).

Richter is closer to Ramin in his wider range of articulation – in particular, his

willingness to use legato – and sonorities. In the “trumpet” choruses (Gloria/et in

terra, Cum sancto spiritu, Resurrexit, Et expecto, Sanctus, Osanna), Richter employs

constant forte dynamics and heavily-accented, aggressive staccati, coupled with a

bright, harsh choral-orchestral sonority. These movements are rigidly metronomic;

downbeats – and, in some cases, all beats – are often heavily and uniformly

accentuated. The overall effect is sharp, almost brutal. On the other hand, most of the

arias and several of the more intimate, reflective choruses (most notably the Qui

tollis) feature rounder articulation, softer sonorities and a wider dynamic range than

either Ramin or Mauersberger. The latter item (dynamics) is truer of the soloists than

of the orchestra.

The comparison between Mauersberger’s and Richter’s Domine deus is

especially interesting, since they employ the same soloists. Mauersberger is more

internally consistent: light staccati in both flute and strings; legato from both singers;

uninflected, static dynamics from all concerned. The dry sound is rendered even

harsher by the prominent, metallic harpsichord.

Richter is more varied. His flautist (Walther Theurer) alternates between gently-

detached articulation and continuous legato; the strings are mostly tenuto non legato.

The singers’ dynamic range is wider than it had been in Mauersberger’s recording;

their phrasing is more varied (there are some moments of harshness with mild note

accentuation) and flexible. The difference in basic tempo is not great, but Richter’s 14 I focus my comparison on the Mauersberger recording, both because it is more easily available for immediate comparison (it is part of my private CD collection, whereas the Thomas is only available on LP), and because the links between Mauersberger and Richter are more obvious.

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performance sounds more expansive. His performance also reflects a tendency

towards stratification: singers are given more prominence, and greater freedom, than

the flautist, who is more prominent and flexible than the strings.

However, if Richter seems freer than Mauersberger, Ramin or Thomas, a

comparison with Jochum yields an opposite conclusion (see p. 49 above).

Mauersberger and Thomas usually maintain internal uniformity within

movements. Richter takes greater care to differentiate between sections and to

highlight moments of structural or dramatic importance, but he approaches them in

the spirit of hierarchy and terraced dynamics.

This is clearly illustrated in his reading of the Et in terra (CD 1: 2; see also the

movements discussed in Part Two). This movement begins with apparent flexibility:

after the harsh aggression of the Gloria (CD 1: 1), Richter switches to a softer

sonority, and allows the choir’s dynamics to match the melodic contours. The range of

dynamics already narrows to near-static, however, in the following instrumental

passage (bars mid-13-20). The first gearshift occurs after the soprano introduces the

subject (bar mid-23): the articulation switches to detached notes in the orchestra and

mild aspiration on the choir’s melismatic semiquavers. The end of the first fugal

exposition is marked, first by a forte on the final entry (second soprano, bar 34) and

then with a switch to forte in the entire ensemble in mid-37. The second exposition

features the harsh sonority and articulation of the Gloria. There is a slight softening

and crescendo in bars 63-65, leading to another massive forte at bars 66ff.

The movement is not internally uniform, then, but it is clearly divided into

distinct episodes. The use of flexible, directional dynamics seems to be a special

effect, used to highlight the contrast between Gloria and Et in terra and for a few

short transitional passages; but Richter gradually returns the music to the fuller, more

solid and strident image from which he hardly departs elsewhere.

The tendency for stark contrasts distinguishes Richter from his Saxon mentors

and colleagues, as well as from “symphonic” conductors like Jochum and Klemperer.

A similar picture emerges when comparing Richter 1961 with Shaw 1960. Shaw’s

recording was, by contemporaneous standards, perhaps the most historically informed

(Herz 1985: 200). Shaw uses the controversial edition for the Neue Bach Ausgabe, but

disputes Friedrich Smend’s claims against the work’s unity (Shaw 1999). His

performing forces are small by contemporaneous standards, and he experiments with

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the contrast of concertists and ripienists. This performance is also characterised by a

gentle sense of ebb-and-flow: the dynamic range is narrow, but there is much local

dynamic nuance.

I do not know whether Shaw’s increased flexibility (compared to his own 1947

recording) is related to musicological research. It is, however, interesting to note that

the most historically aware recording of the early 1960s is also among the most

locally flexible. Coincidentally or otherwise, this sets something of a precedent.

In sum: Richter’s studio recording is the most dramatic, highly contrasted

version to emerge from the Leipzig school. Slower and intimately-scored movements

are more flexible and employ more legato. In trumpet choruses, on the other hand,

Richter employs marcato and aspiration even more harshly than his mentors, along

with louder dynamics and strident sonorities. Throughout, his reading sounds

defiantly rigid and hierarchical, compared with alternative contemporaneous

approaches (e.g., Scherchen 1950, 1959; Karajan 1952; Jochum 1957; Shaw 1960).

3.1.4.2. Richter 1961 compared to Richter’s other recordings

The impression described above is maintained in the 1969 video version. Poor

sound – at least on the copy I consulted – precludes the possibility of reliably detailed

comparison; but the performance seems no less rigid than the 1961 studio version.

The impression is strengthened when the camera focuses on Richter’s conducting: his

gestures are often minimalist, precise and angular.

The earlier, live recording from Japan, however, preserves a different

interpretation. It features many more local nuances: tempo modifications, directional

dynamics, highlighting of individual strands. There are fewer instances of downbeat

bashing and aspiration, more shaping of individual phrases.

The basic shape of the Et in terra is the same in all three recordings. In the NHK

version, however, the sections lead into one another, with fewer obvious breaks.

Dynamic nuances are employed even in forte sections. In both Qui tollis and

Crucifixus, dynamic directionality is allied with rubato, and strict textural

stratification gives way to more shifting hierarchies. In arias, accompaniments are

often more active and responsive to the singers, who in turn seem to practise even

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greater freedom than their counterparts in the other recordings (dynamic ranges and

vibrati are both wider).15

As I noted on p. 56 above, Richter is reputed to have left final interpretive

decisions to the moment of performance, rather than fixing decisions in rehearsals.

This practice was probably more prevalent in live concerts than in recording sessions.

Among other things, it makes it harder than usual to ascribe the resulting

interpretation to Richter himself: flexibility in aria accompaniments, for example,

might indicate that the players were responding to the soloists’ phrasing, rather than to

Richter’s gestures. The application of nuances in the live recording seems arbitrary at

times: the use of directional shaping of the bass line in the Et in unum, for example, is

inconsistent, as is the highlighting of the violins’ head-motif in the Domine deus.

The strictness of the 1961 recording may, then, owe something to a “studio

ethics” (Richter’s and/or his producer’s), to a belief that a recording should be devoid

of “arbitrary” or idiosyncratic gestures. Richter might also have consciously avoided

gestures which contradicted his own theories on appropriate expression in Bach in this

documentary context. On the other hand, his aesthetics were undergoing a general

transformation by the late 1960s, and the 1969 Japan Mass might reflect this.

3.1.5. Summary

Klaus Peter Richter (1998: 84) describes Richter as one of several “Bach der

Mitte” performers, standing between the romantic and the “sachlich-neobarocken”

styles. There is much truth to this; but the term “middle of the road” implies a genial

restraint which is hardly consistent with Richter’s style. Rather than staying in the

middle, Richter often went “sideways”: within his discography, one could find

examples of both “objective” and “romantic” extremes. In general terms, his approach

to expression could be described as a combination of Unity of Affect at any given

moment with a broad overall range; and clear attention to clarity of texture and

expressive character alike. Musical elements could sometimes draw in opposing

directions (in BWV 21/5, for example, Richter employs espressivo articulation and

sonority, but effectively rubs out any suggestion of word-painting); but simultaneous

textural elements were rarely, if ever, allowed to intrude upon each other. 15 Ernst Haefliger’s Benedictus in this recording is much freer, especially in terms of dynamics, than his three other recordings (Mauersberger 1958, Richter 1961, Maazel 1965). The differences in the alto arias, on the other hand, might owe something to the singers involved.

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Richter’s two “studio” recordings of the Mass mostly exemplify the stricter,

hierarchical aspects of his artistic personality; his Leipzig legacy is clearly evident.

Even there, however, Richter’s approach is highly personalised, his projection of

those values more imposing than in his mentors’ recordings. This might explain why

even his most rigid performances (e.g., his 1961 Second Kyrie, Gloria or Sanctus)

might seem “romantic” to some listeners.

In his later years, Richter came closer to the style of symphonic conductors, and

there are occasionally performances which can be genuinely defined as romantic.

There are initial hints of this in his two 1969 recordings (especially the live

recording). In general, however, Richter’s recordings of the Mass remain within the

stricter regime of the Lutheran approach, as he inherited it.

3.2. Helmuth Rilling16 Helmuth Rilling has been one of the primary representatives of the Bach-as-

Lutheran approach in the West, at least since he began recording the complete sacred

cantatas in 1970. His approach to Bach performance changed considerably during the

late 1980s and early 1990s, and these changes reflect general developments in

contemporary Bach performance. In most of his recordings, he conducts the two

ensembles he founded, the Gächinger Kantorei (1954) and the Bach-Collegium

Stuttgart (1965). The size and constitution of these ensembles, however, has also

changed during their existence.

This sensitivity to external developments is not unique to Rilling. Indeed, it

began to register clearly in 1970s Leipzig. Ramin’s direct successors (Kurt Thomas

and Erhard Mauersberger) maintained an even stricter, more austere style than

Ramin’s own, and initially so did Hans-Joachim Rotzsch, who took over in 1971. In

1979, however, Rotzsch began to collaborate with the Neues Bachisches Collegium

Musicum, which Max Pommer founded in 1978 with the aim of forging a more

historically-informed performance style (Mikorey and Messmer 1985). The Rotzsch-

Pommer performances clearly displayed HIP-influenced stylistic traits (faster tempi,

incisive and more varied articulation, locally directional dynamics, etc.). In the Mass’s

16 Unless otherwise stated, biographical information on Rilling is taken from his official online biography, available on http://www.helmuth-rilling.de.

http://www.helmuth-rilling.de

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discography, this trend is most clearly reflected in Peter Schreier’s 1982 recording

with Pommer’s ensemble. While Rotzsch later expressed reservations about HIP

influences (in ibid: 31), his successor, Georg-Christoph Biller, expressed a preference

for period instrument ensembles (in Baumgartner 1999: 7). His recording of the Mass

(with the Gewandhaus Orchestra) reflects his partial assimilation of HIP features.

3.2.1. Rilling’s premises

At the beginning of this chapter, I referred to two Lutheran Bach traditions in

Germany. Rilling emerged from the second of these – the Western Kantorei tradition,

which, like its Saxon counterpart, enjoyed some prestige for historicism. His home

base throughout his career, Stuttgart, has been an important West German Bach centre

at least from the 1950s. Karl Münchinger, founder of the Kammerorchester Stuttgart,

was a renowned representative of the historical approach prior to the emergence of

period instruments. Rilling’s own teacher, Hans Grischkat, was also a highly-

respected Bach conductor and scholar. Rilling’s studies of orchestral conducting link

him to the more conventional symphonic establishment (including a 1967 master-

class with Leonard Bernstein), as does his wide repertoire.

Rilling visits Leipzig frequently and remains in close contact with the leading

musicians there. This connection was further strengthened during his tenure as deputy

chairman (1978-1990) and first chairman (1990-1996) of the Neue Bachgesellschaft.

3.2.1.1. The Bach image

The most detailed account of Rilling’s Bach image is contained in his article

“Bach’s significance” (Rilling 1985), written to celebrate the completion of his cycle

of the Bach sacred cantatas. This paper, like Ramin’s “Bachs Totalität” (1973b; see p.

54 above), presents an image of Bach’s music as relevant for all humanity – while

insisting that Bach’s Lutheran heritage is paramount for our understanding of his

legacy. Rilling (1985: 3) lists four reasons for Bach’s universal appeal:

1. “the systematic, orderly quality of Bach’s music”;

2. Bach’s “summation of thoroughly different eras and currents of thought in

the history of music”;

3. Bach’s influence on 19th- and 20th-century music;

4. “the Christian message of faith, hope, and love”.

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In terms of the Beardsley’s Canons, the first two items deal with Unity and

Complexity. Intensity only enters Rilling’s discourse when he discusses Bach’s

Christian message.

Rilling emphasises that it is not necessary to share Bach’s beliefs in order to

understand his music and be moved by it (ibid: 3-4, 15). He believes, however, that

Lutherans are at a distinct advantage in understanding Bach’s church music – and, by

implication, his musical legacy as a whole. For Bach’s original listeners, the music

would have had an unparalleled immediacy: they would have identified both with the

texts and with the musical references, such as the chorales (ibid: 7-9). Some of this

immediacy can be recaptured when the music is performed in a church, as part of a

church services and with an audience of worshippers (ibid: 15).

This option, however, is not available to all musicians and listeners; and Rilling

finds it important to make the music as widely available as possible. He frequently

performs and discusses Bach’s sacred music in places where Christianity is peripheral

to the local culture (e.g., Japan and Israel).

3.2.1.2. The role of performance practice research

The performer’s aim, in Rilling’s view, is to decipher, “through analysis and

reflection”, the message that the composer sought to convey to his own audience, and

then to create a performance that would make that message “emotionally relevant and

timely” for present-day listeners (1985: 13; see also p. 126 below). Performance

practice research plays a marginal role in this process; its discoveries do not

necessarily lead to a reconstruction of the original practices. If we conclude that Bach

wanted an intense, striking sound at a particular point, we might find that we have to

achieve that same end with different means. Modern listeners’ perception of dynamics

differs from that of Bach and his contemporaries; and we must ensure that “his forte

[is] loud to us and his piano soft to us” (ibid: 13).

While Rilling’s philosophy on these matters has not changed since 1985 (cf.

Rilling 2001), his attitude towards HIP has. Rilling’s stated ideal has always been to

achieve Bach’s intended effects through a combination of modern and historical

elements. In recent years, however, there has been a shift in the balance between these

elements.

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3.2.1.3. Intensity in performance

Rilling’s Bach image is very much within the balance-as-equilibrium paradigm

– he sees this as an essential part of Bach’s uniqueness and his religious message

(Rilling [n.d.]; 1985: 3-4). Within this framework, however, his performative

philosophy is distinctly x/x. Rilling comes from a tradition which already featured

mixed choirs within Lutheran church services, and expresses a strong preference for

mixed choir, and an even stronger one for female soloists – over boys and counter-

tenors alike – for reasons of vocal security and musical experience (1985: 11-12).

This x/x approach also applies to structure and texture. Rilling believes it is

important to project both “the organization of details and the differentiation of small

forms” and “the architecture of large-scale movements” (ibid: 10). In texture, x/x

translates into a strong demand for clarity (ibid: 10-11). Rilling therefore prefers a

reliably even tone production, which enables the achievement of equal intensity, and

in which various strands can be heard without having to fight for prominence.

3.2.2. Rilling’s practices

Rilling’s Bach discography stretches from the mid-1960s to the present. During

this period, his style has changed considerably; this is immediately audible when one

compares his 1960s recordings of several secular cantatas with his re-makes of the

same works in the late 1990s for Hänssler’s Edition Bachakademie. The changes seem

to have taken place mostly after the completion of his cycle of the sacred cantatas in

1984, and involve the adoption of features usually associated with HIP.

In “Bach’s significance”, Rilling is mostly critical of contemporaneous HIP. His

attitudes have changed in subsequent years. Among other things, he now invites HIP

musicians to appear at the Stuttgart Bachakademie’s events. His programming

philosophy is clearly reflected in the Edition Bachakademie – a CD edition of Bach’s

complete works, published by Hänssler in 2000 (see discography for this chapter). For

this project, Rilling conducted all the choral and orchestral works, and selected the

performers for solo and chamber music. His heterogeneous approach is represented by

Robert Levin’s contribution to the series: the “English” Suites on a modern piano;

keyboard concerti on a harpsichord, accompanied by the “modern” instruments of the

Oregon Bach Festival Orchestra under Rilling’s direction; and Das wohltemperierte

Klavier on a range of historical instruments.

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This heterogeneity does not merely represent Rilling’s open-mindedness to

styles other than his own. Levin has been collaborating with Rilling for several years.

These collaborations – and, in all probability, ideas brought in by members of

Rilling’s own ensembles – are reflected in a performance style that is increasingly

open to HIP influences.

3.2.2.1. Articulation

Rilling cites articulation as the one factor that has changed most markedly

between his 1970s and 1990s performances. In “Bach’s significance”, he cited his

belief in the importance of architecture as an argument against Harnoncourt’s and

Leonhardt’s speech-like articulation (1985: 14). His criticism was directed primarily

at the isolation of one slurred group from another, which in his view disrupted the

shaping of longer lines. His own ideal was continuity and consistency.

While questioning the historical validity of Harnoncourt’s and Leonhardt’s

style, Rilling also stated that anachronism is a viable, indeed necessary option, in

keeping with his general philosophy which places affect ahead of historical

performance practice. If legato-sostenuto articulation can be used to “bring clarity to

the structure, architecture, and thereby the meaning of a Bach work” (ibid), then it

should be applied – even if it was only developed in the 19th or 20th centuries.

Rilling’s earlier recordings feature a wide variety of articulation – but rarely

within a single movement. The role of the “articulatory scheme” (ibid) is to project

the movement’s general character, which, at the time, he clearly placed ahead of local

details. A single work might therefore feature many articulatory strategies – but once

a movement’s basic articulation has been established, it is rarely modified.

This approach resembles Richter’s in broad outlines, but not in all details.

Aggressive, relentless staccati are rare in Rilling’s performances; though he

sometimes uses aspiration in choral singing, for example, it is usually moderate and

understated. Sempre legato, tenuto non legato and lightly-articulated staccato are

more common strategies. Rilling rarely uses articulation to shape phrases or

distinguish between them; he usually uses dynamics for that purpose. There is also

very little sense of metric accentuation and stress, of distinguishing between weak and

strong beats (though harsh accentuation of individual beats is also rare).

In his more recent recordings, much of this changes. Although he still avoids

articulatory contrasts within a movement, he reveals a greater willingness to shape

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individual phrases and motifs separately. Likewise, metric accentuation plays a more

active role. In “Bach’s significance”, Rilling already acknowledged that “the dance

music of Bach’s time, in all of its variety, is to be found in numerous forms in Bach’s

music” (1985: 3), but this aspect comes out more vividly in his 1990s performances.

Harsh staccati and heavy accentuation are, if anything, rarer in Rilling’s later

performances: detached articulation and short legati are frequently employed, but not

strongly projected. In this sense, he is more reminiscent of Koopman (or Gardiner in

his less hard-driven recordings) than of Harnoncourt or Leonhardt.

3.2.2.2. Dynamics

In this parameter, the direction of change within Rilling’s style is less obviously

consistent. In a recent interview with the author (December 2001), Rilling clearly

expressed his continued belief in the validity of terraced dynamics to Bach’s music.

However, he never applied terraced dynamics as rigidly as Richter and the Saxon

school. His verbally-expressed advocacy of terraced dynamics allows for exceptions:

“crescendo-diminuendo schemes can be introduced only where the structure of the

work itself justifies it” (Rilling 1985: 10). This is coupled with his belief in the

viability of employing a wide dynamic range in Bach’s music (see also p. 70 above).

Thus, Rilling’s early secular cantatas and complete sacred cantatas feature a

wide dynamic range, often within individual movements – alongside uniformly rigid,

uninflected dynamics in other movements. Where dynamic inflections are employed,

they usually take the shape of long-range crescendi and diminuendi, grouping figures

into extended phrases of several bars with a clear, single trajectory.

The 1990s recordings retain this alternation between stricter and more wide-

ranged movements, but the rate of change alters: there are more instances of local

dynamic inflections, often tracing the contours of individual phrases (though, in most

cases, not pursuing different dynamic directionality for simultaneous voices in a

polyphonic texture). Local echoes are also more frequent in the newer recordings,

although examples can be found throughout Rilling’s recording career.

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3.2.2.3. Tempo

In re-makes of the same pieces, Rilling’s tempi either stay the same or get

faster. Metronomic rigidity is rare throughout his discography, though it is more

common in earlier recording. Impressions are sometimes deceptive, with a nearly

identical tempo sounding faster in the later version because of lighter articulation.

3.2.2.4. Size and constitution of performing ensembles

In “Bach’s significance”, Rilling stated a preference for “an ensemble of

essentially chamber dimensions” which should nonetheless take into account the drier

acoustics of larger modern halls (1985: 15). His precise definition of “chamber

ensemble” has changed: he estimates that he has gradually gone down from a 40-

strong choir to about 24 singers (Parrott and Rilling 2000: 39). He claims that he now

has stronger, better-trained voices at his disposal, and using a smaller ensemble allows

him to increase clarity without losing strength.

Like Richter, Rilling prefers to work with lighter, younger voices; his choristers

are mostly aged 25-30 (Rilling 2001). The timbre in the earlier recordings, however,

is often darker and rounder than Richter’s. More recent recordings feature a more

focused, brighter sound, reminiscent of the chamber choirs associated with early-

music ensembles. Even in the earlier recordings, however, the choral sound was

usually tight enough to enable the projection of inner lines with little or no aspiration.

Like Richter (see p. 61 above), Rilling alternates between soloists and chorus in

several movements that juxtapose chorale melodies in one strand of the texture with

independent materials in other strands. The effect, however, is less starkly contrasted:

Rilling allows more freedom to his choir, and can therefore retain a sense of

continuity during transitions from soloists to chorus (compare the two in BWV 27/1).

While always using modern instruments, Rilling takes care to use original

instrument types. Judging by the sound, he seems to have switched from “modern”,

Pleyel- or Neupert-style harpsichords in earlier recordings (Elste 2000: 164) to

replicas of historical models in recent recordings.

In terms of balance, Rilling hardly ever observes strict hierarchies. His ideal is

that all strands should be audible: a reduced string section, for example, is essential to

allow the woodwinds and choir to come through (Rilling 1985: 10). He often achieves

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near-equal balances; to the extent that there is a tilt in the balance, it remains – in

earlier and later recordings alike – in favour of the choir and soloists.17

3.2.2.5. Summary

In his earlier recordings, Rilling’s central ideal is consistency and clarity. He

insists that Bach’s textures and message should be made as clear as possible to

modern listeners; his recent reference to listening as “the passive side of Bach’s

music-making” (Parrott and Rilling 2000: 39) is implicit in his earlier references to

the need to calibrate performances to the needs of the audience. He also assists his

audiences through lecture-concerts, articles, books and master-classes.

Against this, one can set Rilling’s (undated) “Credo”, quoted in his official

biography on the Internationale Bachakademie’s website: Music should startle people and reach deep down inside them forcing them to reflect. It should never be merely ‘comfortable’, never fossilized, never soothing. (http://www.bachakademie.de/bioe_ri.htm)

Rilling’s emphasis, however, is on introspection, not on direct emotional response

(compare with Harnoncourt, quoted on p. 92 below). His performance style does not

seem geared towards startling his listeners or arousing strong discomfort – whether by

making the music strongly dramatic or by challenging pre-conceptions.

His early recordings maintained either uniformity in all parameters, or an

alternation in dynamics aimed at delineating a movement’s overall architecture. Later

recordings feature a greater willingness to modulate patterns of intensity to generate

local momentum – while still avoiding stark contrasts. Implicit in his new style is the

acknowledgement that Bach’s meaning and expression might also reside in local

figures and motifs, not exclusively in large-scale patterns.

Most of the changes in Rilling’s style reflect general developments in Bach

performance: if his earlier style bore the hallmarks of his teacher, Grischkat, and

colleagues like Münchinger and Richter, his later style is reminiscent of features in

period-instrument performance.

17 Rilling claims that he has worked closely with the production team – especially in his Hänssler recordings – and that the balance in his recordings therefore reflects his own wishes.

http://www.bachakademie.de/bioe_ri.htm

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3.2.3. Rilling’s interpretations of the Mass

Rilling’s commercial recordings of the Mass come close to covering the full

length of his recording career. The 1977 version is his first recording for CBS, with

whom he later recorded the two Passions and the Weihnachts-Oratorium. At the time,

Rilling was about halfway through his cycle of the complete sacred cantatas, and his

1977 Mass features soloists who also made frequent appearances in that cycle.

The 1988 version was made four years after Rilling had completed his cantata

cycle.18 It is his only recording for Intercord, and features an orchestra and soloists

with whom he collaborated less frequently, at least on record. The notes are by Ulrich

Prinz, the Bachakademie’s academic director.

The 1999 recording was the penultimate large-scale choral work to be recorded

especially for the Edition Bachakademie, followed only by Rilling’s new Weihnachts-

Oratorium. Rilling (1999) described this recording of the composer’s “Opus

Ultimum” as the culmination of his career as a Bach conductor, coming as it does

after he had conducted virtually all of Bach’s music. The ensembles are, once again,

Rilling’s own ensembles, and the soloists have also collaborated with him in his other

Bachakademie projects (recordings of the secular cantatas, Passions, Magnificat and

other vocal works). In an interview with the author (November 2001), Rilling states

that he has enjoyed a close collaboration with Hänssler by the time this recording of

the Mass was made, and that he was closely involved in the recording and editing

process – more so than in his earlier recordings of the Mass.

Rilling’s book on the Mass appeared between the first two recordings. Its first

edition was published in 1979; he revised it for the 1984 English translation, and

again for a second, 1986 German edition (which I have been unable to consult). It

provides a movement-by-movement analysis of the Mass, followed by italicised

recommendations for performance.

George Stauffer (1993: 258) writes that Rilling’s “suggestions for performance

are closer to nineteenth-century traditions than to the practices of Bach’s day”.

18 This paragraph, and all subsequent references to “Rilling 1988”, refers to the recording listed in the discography as Rilling 1988a. Rilling apparently made another recording of the Mass in 1988, with the same orchestra and choir, listed in the discography as Rilling 1988b. Two of the soloists in that recording (Arleen Augér and Wolfgang Schöne) also appeared in the 1977 recording; the tenor, Aldo Baldin, appeared frequently in Rilling’s cantata series. Unfortunately, I only learned of the existence of this album (possibly a live recording, not initially intended for commercial release) recently, and I have not been able to consult it.

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Reading the book on its own, that conclusion is understandable. Rilling describes

movements in terms of dramatic development, of gathering and release of tension, and

believes that these patterns should be realised in performance. Despite his general

advocacy of terraced dynamics, he often recommends gradual dynamic build-up

towards climaxes. He also recommends variety of articulation as a means of

distinguishing between themes or sections; for the most part, he neither prescribes nor

proscribes varied articulation within phrases

Rilling’s x/x approach does not automatically translate into +/+. He advocates a

more “objective” approach in movements which he perceives as less expressive

(primarily the Gratias and the Credo in unum deum; Rilling 1984: 27-29, 53-55). In

the Qui tollis and Agnus dei, he recommends performative restraint to match these

movements’ meditative character (ibid: 34-38, 145-149). Overall, however, Rilling

views the Mass as a richly expressive work. He observes notable contrasts between its

movements, and while most movements are viewed in terms of unity of affect, he also

discerns dramatic and architectural developments within them.

A comparison between the book and the performances, however, sheds a

different light on the former. Listening to the performances on their own, one would

conclude that the 1977 version is more “19th-century” than the 1999 version. Yet the

1988 and 1999 versions realise many more of Rilling’s 1979/1984 recommendations.

The differences between the three versions are consistent with the general

development described above: the 1977 version reflects the more opulent, static,

dynamics-led style of the contemporaneous cantatas, whereas the latter two

(especially 1999) demonstrate his increasing adoption of HIP features, and a growing

tendency towards local flexibility, variety and directionality.

In terms of articulation, the 1999 version is the lightest and most incisive. In

terms of dynamics, the picture is more varied. On the one hand, the most wide-

ranging long crescendi appear in the 1977 version (cf. pp. 190 and 229 below); on the

other hand, both the 1988 and 1999 versions feature greater moment-to-moment

variety. The 1988 version contains more instances of terraced contrasts (with some

degree of flexibility within each “terrace”) than either of the flanking performances.

In terms of tempo, the 1977 version is the slowest – both in its entire length, and

in each and every movement (except for the Second Kyrie). The 1999 version is the

shortest of the three, but in several individual movements the 1988 version is the

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fastest. The 1988 version also features more frequent, and wider, tempo modifications

– especially concluding ritardandi.

The one ideal common to all recordings is textural clarity. While rarely

resorting to aggressive aspiration, choral singing in 1977 is reminiscent of

Mauersberger’s and Richter’s recordings (see p. 64 above), particularly in the use of

non legato articulation to clarify textures. In 1988 and 1999, the choir became

progressively smaller, and clarity is achieved through more flexible articulation.

Several factors can account for the closer proximity between Rilling’s theory

and practice in 1988 and 1999. First of all, Rilling’s earlier style is often characterised

by dynamic uniformity and an avoidance of strong tensions. This limits the

possibilities for generating momentum, inhibiting Rilling’s options for realising his

own analyses. The 1977 recording comes closest to the conductor’s own

recommendations in movements like the First Kyrie, Incarnatus and Crucifixus,

which he projects in single dynamic trajectories. The discrepancies are more clearly

felt where the analysis refers to several focal points of tension, or to alternation

between several elements (e.g., Second Kyrie, Et in terra, Qui sedes, Agnus dei;

Rilling 1984: 12-14, 22-24, 38-41, 149-149). The greater flexibility of his later style

allows greater scope for realising such internal diversity.

Flexibility is often directly advocated in the book. In discussing the Laudamus,

for example, Rilling calls for “a variety of dynamics” in the orchestral parts, to insure

textural clarity and clear exposition of “individual thematic figurations” (ibid: 27).

There is little trace of this in the dynamically-static 1977 reading. Here, Rilling comes

closest to realising his own recommendations in 1988 (in 1999, the requisite variety is

present in the solo violin and soprano, but less so in the orchestral strings).

Another important area is articulation. As noted on p. 77 above, Rilling mostly

advocates articulatory variety between, rather than within, phrases. Even this limited

degree of differentiation, however, is not often realised in the 1977 Mass, where non

legato is used primarily for clarification. A particularly interesting illustration can be

found in the Qui tollis. Here, Rilling sees “the variety within the theme” – the contrast

between repeated notes (Qui tollis pec-: Öµ |± ±± ) and the following melismas – as an

important source of “expressive strength” in the vocal lines (1984: 37). Therefore, he

writes, “it is crucial that the nearly static beginning of the theme and its quasi-

expressive continuation be clearly articulated” – and differentiated; and the settings

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of “miserere nobis” and “deprecationem nostram” “must stand in relief against the

theme through the use of consistently legato articulation” (ibid).

His 1977 version (CD 1: 13) takes little heed of this advice. Articulation is

almost constantly smooth – except for a harsher rendition of several syllabic phrases,

including “miserere nobis”. Individual motifs and strands are barely differentiated.

Instead, the movement is projected in three dynamic waves (bars 1-29, 30-41, 42-

end), each with its own pattern of rise-and-fall.

In 1988 (CD 1: 14), Rilling placed a stronger emphasis on texture in shaping the

movement, in closer accordance with his own analysis. The balance of attention,

which in 1977 was focused almost exclusively on the choir, shifts to a more equalised

treatment, though the orchestral size seems to have been reduced.

In his book, Rilling argues that “Bach wanted all elements of the orchestra to

participate in the subjective expression of the movement, with increased agitation

from bottom to top” (1984: 36). The general spirit of this statement is adhered to in

1988, though the Rilling’s main orchestral emphasis is on the lower strands: the

clearly-separated legato pairs in the violas, and the emphasis on the cellos’

downbeats.19 The vocal parts are shaped with a clear upbeat-to-downbeat trajectory,

which provides a sense of direction even when individual crotchets or quaver-pairs

are clearly separated. Here, the articulatory patterns proposed in the book are clearly

realised in sound. This facilitates a clearer exposition of the relationships between the

voices: since each figure is shaped differently, patterns of imitation, and the

simultaneous appearances of several figures, are more clearly audible as such. On the

other hand, it gives the movement as a whole a somewhat halting effect.

The 1999 version (CD 1: 15) seems like a compromise or synthesis of the

approaches typified in its two predecessors. Rilling retains the “qui tollis”/ “peccata” /

“miserere nobis” contrasts outlined in his book, but in a more continuous context:

metric accentuation is lighter, the separation between crotchets and quaver-pairs is

more subtle and their connection through directional dynamics clearer. The dynamic

range of the 1988 and 1999 readings is smaller than in 1977, but the rate of change is

19 Rilling also suggests that the “independent rhythmic motion of the continuo and cello must be clear enough so that when they abandon their independent lines from time to time in cadential measures [...] and join into the expressive flow of the vocal setting, the change is clearly audible” (1984: 37). This recommendation is not fully realised in any of his readings. The effect is most vividly realised in Hengelbrock’s and Junghänel’s recordings (on the former, see p. 159 below).

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more frequent – especially in 1999; dynamic inflections reflect the contours of

individual phrase, not just large-scale patterns.

The connection between HIP conventions and Rilling’s prescriptions is most

readily apparent in the more exuberant, celebratory “trumpet-choruses” (Gloria, Cum

sancto, Resurrexit and simile). For these movements, Rilling advocates a fast tempo –

not so fast as to jeopardise “a flawless choral performance”, but fast enough to

guarantee “an unequivocal, forward-pressing character” and “to make the virtuosic

component of the movement immediately perceptible” (1984: 87; see also ibid: 20, 27,

48, 114, 131, 140). Not surprisingly, this is allied with a recommendation for light

articulation; and the references to “forward-pressing character” are connected with an

advocacy of directional dynamics.

In these movements, the 1999 recording usually comes closest to realising

Rilling’s stated ideals, while the 1977 version – with its comparatively slower tempo,

heavier articulation and more uniform dynamics – is often wide of the mark.20 The

faster tempi in the later recordings might reflect Rilling’s growing confidence in his

ensembles’ technical capabilities (see p. 74 above), and this might partly explain why

he posited lightness as an ideal before proving capable of producing it in practice.

Here, too, increased dynamic flexibility plays a part. In 1999 (and, to a lesser

degree, in 1988), phrases in Cum Sancto, Resurrexit, Et expecto (Vivace ed allegro),

Pleni sun coeli and Osanna (especially second repeats) display clear if subtle

delineations of the contours of individual voices, through both articulatory

punctuation and small-scale directional dynamics. This helps achieve the textural

clarity and sense of forward momentum, which Rilling advocates in his book, and

does not really achieve in the more dynamically static 1977 version.

Rilling is more ambivalent when he discerns a “playful” element in an

ostensibly serious context. Discussing the Qui sedes, he supplies two alternative sets

of performance recommendations: a slow tempo, appropriate to “the gravity of the

textual message” – or a faster one, which would “emphasize the playful component of

the 6/8 meter”. In either case, he insists on rendering the notated staccati “definitely

detached, but [...] relatively long”. Too sharp an articulation, rendering the movement

20 For illustration, compare his 1977 and 1999 readings of the Resurrexit (CD 4: 11, 29).

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dance-like, “would contradict the theme contained in the text and delineated by the

structure of the aria” (1984: 40-41).

Predictably, Rilling chose a slower tempo in 1977 (CD 1: 17), and a faster one

in 1988 and 1999 (CD 1: 18). Articulation in all three performances is consistent with

his set parameters, but the distinction between the legato and staccato portions is

clearer in the later two recordings. Both later versions also feature a more restrained

basic sound – the basic parameters for 1977 are forte and sostenuto, especially in the

strings – and, within it, a greater degree of local nuance (metric accentuation, and

directional dynamics proceeding beyond bar lines). The metrical element is most

strongly apparent in the 1999 version.

In sum: an isolated reading of Rilling’s book, without reference to his

performances, could lead to the conclusion that he is presenting a “romantic” vision of

the music, and advocates a similarly “romantic” style of performance.

Listening to the three performances without reference to the book, listeners

might conclude that the 1977 version is the closest to “romanticism”. This label is,

however, deceptive in this context. Rilling 1977 might be more profitably viewed as

an example of “romantic modernism” (see p. 43 above). Within this context, Rilling

still incorporates many features more redolent of the “Lutheran” tradition; the

strictness associated with that tradition is felt especially in the “trumpet” choruses.

For all its “traditionalist” leanings, however, the 1977 recording is still the

furthest from realising the 1979/1984 recommendations. In some movements, this is

because the book advocates a lightness, even playfulness, that sits uneasily with the

traditions that inform Rilling’s 1970s style. Even ostensibly “romantic”, espressivo

recommendations, however, are better realised in the later versions. By then, Rilling

reveals a greater willingness to shape individual phrases with localised inflections.

Rilling’s newer style, for all its greater lightness, is therefore better suited than his

older, “traditional” style to realising his “romantic” vision of the work.

Rilling himself is conscious of most of these changes (see, for example, Rilling

1999: 28). He attributes them to his greater acquaintance, both with Bach’s oeuvre

and idiom, and with musicological research into performance practice. The influence

of period instrument performances, however, is another likely explanation.

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3.3. Summary Bach is often portrayed as a devoutly religious man, whose highest aspiration

was to fulfil the post of church composer. For some adherents of this image, modern

musicians who share Bach’s religious beliefs, and hold posts similar to his, have a

special bond with him. Through much of the 20th century, such musicians promoted

an austere image of Bach, one that distanced his music – particularly his church music

– from dramatic-expressive (“Operatic”) and lightweight, dance associations alike.

Their approach to expression-through-performance was largely restricted to the x/-

spectrum.

The advent of the period-instrument movement presented these musicians with a

dilemma. On the one hand, the belief that their theological and institutional affinity

with Bach gave them a privileged position could lead to disdain towards historicism.

On the other hand, it also presents one with an obligation towards maintaining the

tradition, correcting more recent “errors”.

Richter and Rilling reacted differently to these dilemmas. Both musicians

believed in the image of Bach-the-Lutheran, operated within the balance-as-

equilibrium paradigm, and shared ambivalent feelings towards the x/- paradigm and

its implications. Richter’s response could be generalised as an intensification of

Ramin’s Überpersönlich dictum. He often took maximal advantage of the expressive

devices allowed by his tradition. As he became increasingly dissatisfied with the x/-

aspects of the style he inherited, he began to adopt “romantic” features, projecting

greater flexibility of tempo and dynamics. For him, the primary means of achieving an

expressive performance remained those of the symphonic tradition.

Consequently, his personal development – unfortunately ill-documented in his

recordings of the Mass – went in the opposite direction to that of his contemporaries.

This tendency also reflected his basic disdain towards the concept of historicism: he

saw little value in performance-practice research, and developed his interpretations

primarily out of his strongly-held personal convictions.

Helmuth Rilling displayed almost the opposite approach. In a review of his

1999 Mass, Bernard Sherman (1999b) characterised his stylistic development as “a

barometer of musical taste”, an indicator on the influence of HIP practices on

mainstream performance. Like some of his Leipzig colleagues (see p. 68 above),

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Rilling displayed an ambivalent attitude towards HIP, but increasingly adopted its

practices. This proved to have a decisive influence on his approach to expression,

which had always been ostensibly x/x.

In the 1970s and early 1980s, his stylistic approach was not dissimilar to

Richter’s. In subsequent decades, his style increasingly came to incorporate HIP

elements – and this development made it easier for him to realise his own

prescriptions for a detailed, expressive rendition of Bach’s music: his “romantic”

interpretations of the Mass in his 1979 Mass are more closely realised in his later,

HIP-influenced readings.

HIP is often assumed to be fundamentally at odds with realising the expressive

potential of music, and particularly of Bach’s music. Rilling’s stylistic evolution

suggests that the picture is more complex. The next chapter will examine this link

from another angle – the attempt by several prominent HIP musicians to realise a

specific theory of Baroque expression in their Bach performances.

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4. Bach as Rhetorician:

Nikolaus Harnoncourt and Philippe Herreweghe Throughout the world, attempts are being made to find a new language for Baroque music, or better, to rediscover its old language, or better still, that which we believe the old language to have been (Harnoncourt 1988: 122)1

HIP is often accused of promoting an x/- approach towards expression. It is also

presented as a technical ideology, focused exclusively on achieving the correct text,

instrumentation and performance technique. Taruskin, for example, argues that the

traditional approach construes intentions “internally” [...] and sees their realization in terms of “effect” of a performance, while the [authentistic approach] construes intentions in terms of empirically ascertainable – and hence, though tacitly, external – facts, and sees their realization in terms of sound. (1995: 99)

He further identifies the traditional approach with idealism, “which recognizes a sharp

distinction between content and form”, while equating the so-called authentistic

approach with positivism, for which “content is a function of form” (ibid: 99-100).

This view ignores the existence of a major strand within HIP ideology, which I

term the Idea-Oriented approach (as opposed to the Material-Oriented approach; see

5.1.2, pp. 123ff below): seeking to reconstruct not only the original performance

practices but also the composer’s (and his contemporaries’) aesthetics, their

conception of music, its aims and its means.

In Bach performance, the main “Idea” sought out by IO-HIP musicians is the

quest to shape performative expression in accordance with the principles of Baroque

musical rhetoric (Kerman 1985: 205; Fabian 2003: 245-246 and passim; cf. Dreyfus

1992a: 115 for a more critical view). However, both the historical credentials of

rhetorical theories, and the extent to which they have been realised in contemporary

HIP practice, have been questioned. Here, I will examine these claims with reference

to two conductors who represent, in practice (though not so much in their verbally-

expressed theories), strongly contrasted approaches to rhetorical performance.

1 Compare with Tomlinson 1988: 115.

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4.1. The meanings of rhetoric 20th- and 21st-century rhetorical performance of Baroque music is ostensibly

based on 17th- and 18th-century music theory. Many theorists of the time, especially in

Germany, spoke of music as speech-in-tones. They compared the acts of composition

and performance to the creation and delivery of verbal oratory, with reference to the

same four stages: Inventio (the creation of appropriate thematic materials); Dispositio

(formal organisation); Decoratio (ornamentation or decoration); and Pronuntiatio

(delivery or performance).2 They also discuss musical-rhetorical “topics” and

“figures” to be used in the composition. These Baroque writers rely on Classical and

Renaissance theories of rhetoric, which were part of the curriculum in music

education at the time (A. Schmitz 1970: 61-62; Butt 1994: 46-47).

Since rhetoric concerns delivery, as well as composition, of speeches, it is easy

to assume that it has direct relevance to performance. This assumption proved

tempting for HIP musicians from the 1960s onwards, who sought to move away from

the uniformity and rigidity of much contemporaneous Bach performance without

resorting to allegedly “romantic” means of performative expression. In these

musicians’ discourse, one can distinguish three basic assumptions:

A. Rhetoric as speech: Music follows the patterns of speech, and should be

articulated accordingly;

B. Rhetoric as semantics: Musical-rhetorical figures applied at the Decoratio

stage have direct extra-musical meaning;

C. Rhetoric as structure: Musical works are structured according to the principles

of a good oration, as described in classical and Renaissance treatises.

4.1.1. Rhetoric as speech

If music is akin to rhetoric, then its performance must be inflected in a speech-

like manner. This has obvious implications on several parameters:

1. Articulation: Speech – especially the speech of actors or orators –

demands clear punctuation and pronunciation. This stands at odds with the

ideal of an undivided sostenuto phrase (see p. 40 above). A rhetorical

performance should therefore pay “more attention to the details of the 2 For different versions of this division, see Schmitz 1970: 63-64; Butt 1990: 16; Seymour 1992: 916; Dreyfus 1996: 5-6; Bartel 1997: 68; Krones 1997: 823-826; Buelow 2003: §I: 2.

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phrase”, instead of projecting long, uninflected lines (Gustav Leonhardt, in

Sherman 1997: 196; see also Butt 1990: 12-15).

2. Rhythm: The flexibility required by speech-like performance is antithetical

to the notion of equalised beats.3 As Leonhardt puts it, the 19th century “is

for sustained sounds, which are always under tension and always

nourished”, whereas Baroque music is “more like speaking, which means

wave-like, constantly rising then loosening up even within a single

sentence” (in Sherman 1997: 196). Conversely, speech-like performance is

also inconsistent with waves of rubato; large changes of pulse are not part

of oratory, let alone “normal” speech. Rhetorical performers also

emphasise the Baroque concept of metric regularity – an alternation of

weak and strong beats – which could be compromised by over-drawn

rubati. However, they also advocate flexibility in the application of this

regularity, stating that it should be altered with consideration to harmony

(Holman 2002: 34; also p. 97 below) and, in texted music, with reference to

the text’s prosody (Newman 1985: 56-57; Fabian 2003: 219-222, 241-242).

3. Dynamics: The ideal of “wave-like” performance has obvious

consequences for dynamics. On the one hand, it is at odds with the notion

of terraced dynamics (Lawson and Stowell 1999: 53-54). Conversely, it is

difficult to accommodate large-scale dynamic inflections – be they sudden

transitions from forte to piano or long-range crescendi and diminuendi –

within a speech-like framework.

4. Sonority: The contradiction between rhetorical performance and uniform

intensity also extend to sound. The main characteristic of romantic

modernism – consistent intensity of sound (see p. 43 above) – stands at

odds with the speech-like flexibility implied by rhetorical aesthetics.

The ideal of rhetoric-as-speech could thus be used to target two previous performance

approaches – Neue Sachlichkeit and Romanticism – as musically and historically

inappropriate (Wenzinger 1968: 38-45; Arlt and Theil 1989: 31).

Most discussions of rhetoric-as-speech focus on articulation and phrasing. This

has become the focal point of an atomistic theory of Baroque expression, which

regards “small figures in the surface” as the focal point of expression and 3 Cf. Taruskin’s discussion of Cone’s ideal of equalised beats (Cone 1968: 70; Taruskin 1995: 115).

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signification, and marginalizes “larger music processes, such as the extended

crescendo or the prolonged dissonance” (Schulenberg 1992: 105).

Taken to its extreme, such a formulation could support a performance style

which emphasises articulation above all else. However, as Dorottya Fabian points out,

articulation has become “a convenient term that comprises in itself most other

components of performance practice”, including tempo and dynamics (2003: 207).

Rhetoric-as-speech can have direct relevance to performative expression. While

discouraging the employment of some expressive devices, it encourages flexibility

and attention to detail, facilitating the projection of tension and momentum. This

connection between detailed articulation and the arousal of affections is also

commented on in several German Baroque treatises (Butt 1990: 19-24).

4.1.2. Rhetoric as semantics

The theory of rhetoric-as-semantics is based on the assumption that Baroque

treatises on musical rhetoric reveal a coherent doctrine of the affections

(Affektenlehre) and of meaningful musical figures (Figurenlehre), which constitute a

theory of expression and meaning alike, and bear some resemblance to Wagnerian

Leitmotifs. This theory is rooted in the late 19th-century writings of Hermann

Kretzschmar,4 and especially in studies of musical symbolism by his student, Arnold

Schering. The latter’s work was continued in the 1940s and 1950s by Hans-Heinrich

Unger and Arnold Schmitz, both of whom made more specific references to rhetorical

figures. Their Figurenlehre theories became part of standard music history by the mid

20th-century (cf. Lang 1942: 332-443; Bukofzer 1948: 388-393; Blume 1975: 111-

117). In German musicology, it remains a respected orthodoxy, as is evident in the

entries on musical rhetoric in the 1955 and 1997 editions of the MGG (A. Schmitz

1955, Krones 1997) and in the recently-published Bach-Lexicon (Hartmut Grim, in

Heinemann 2000: 35-40, 192-194). It also features prominently in several analyses of

the Mass (e.g., Blankenburg 1976, Mellers 1980, Rilling 1984, Stauffer 1997b).

4 For translated excerpts from Kretzschmar’s writings, see Kretzschmar 1986, 1988. For discussions of his theories and their context, see Katz & Dahlhaus 1986: 616-617; Hanheide 1990: 129-132; Rothfarb 1991: 10-11; Lippman 1992: 353-359; Bent 1994: 22-25, 106-108.

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4.1.2.1. Historical weaknesses of Figurenlehre theories

More recently, however, this approach has been questioned. Writers like

Williams (1983), Buelow (1981b; 1983; 2003: §I:3),5 Dreyfus (1996: 3-10) and Butt

(1999b) point out that the figures cited in Baroque treatises usually designated

musical techniques like fauxbordon, repetition, chromaticism, sequence, or inversion;

they were not intended to communicate extra-musical meanings. While some

“representational” figures indicate specific word-paintings, others just indicate general

attention to the words. For instance, “Antithesis” is the “musical expression of

opposing affections” (Bartel 1997: 197) – but its 17th- and 18th- century definitions do

not indicate the musical means for achieving this end. The few figures that do refer to

extra-musical ideas often come from writers like Gottsched and Scheibe, whose

chronological and aesthetic relevance to Bach is questionable (Dreyfus 1996: 8, 219-

220, 233-234, 241-242; Butt 1997b: 50-51; for Scheibe’s debate with Bach, see Wolff

1998a: 337-353). This was acknowledged by Schering (1941: 53), but ignored by

many of his successors. Even in these later writers’ treatises, there is nothing to

support the claim that the German Baroque recognised musical-rhetorical figures for

highly specific ideas, such as “sin” (A. Schmitz 1970: 74).

4.1.2.2. The links to performance and expression

The first people who systematically explored the application of rhetoric-as-

semantics to performance were performers. Musicians from Wenzinger (1968)

onwards regarded it primarily as a historical justification for flexibility and

expressiveness in performance. This assumption, too, is problematic.

Many 17th- and early 18th-century writers viewed the act of moving the

affections in mechanical terms (Butt 1990: 15; 1994: 41-45). Several 20th-century

writers went even further, presenting Affektenlehre as a theory of lexical signification,

with little expressive import (Bukofzer 1948: 389; Damman 1967: 234; cf. A. Schmitz

1950: 29; 1970: 66). This intellectualising tendency is clearest in Arnold Schering’s

theory of musical symbolism (see also Lippman 1992: 361-365). Schering

distinguished between “‘Expression’ [Ausdruck] and ‘Symbolism’ [Symbolik]”

(1986: 193n). He divides musical symbols into two types: “symbols of feeling” and

5 Ironically, Buelow himself pursued a rather arcane symbolic interpretation, of a type often criticised alongside Figurenlehre interpretations, in his article on the Kyrie of the B minor Mass (Buelow 1981a).

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“symbols of idea”; the latter are sub-divided into “depictive (objectifying)” and

“conceptual (intellectual)”. In Baroque music, “the symbolism of feeling had to retreat

before the symbolism of ideas” (ibid: 197). “[R]hetorical symbolism” belongs to the

most intellectual type – the conceptual symbol of idea (ibid: 201).

This system could have direct implications for performance: if the music is

meant to arouse specific reactions or signify specific ideas, and modern listeners lack

the requisite knowledge to make the connection, performers could respond by

becoming more explicit in rendering the relevant musical figures. However, this view

was not encouraged by 20th-century Affektenlehre theorists. As I noted on p. 53 above,

Schering advocated a strictly +/- approach to Bach performance. Other writers were

mostly silent on this issue; Arnold Schmitz (1970: 82) did advocate the application of

rhetorical analysis to performance, but made no detailed suggestions.

Performers obviously had different priorities. For Wenzinger, emotional

expression was a much more pressing priority than lexical signification. Later

performers (including Harnoncourt and Herreweghe) placed a more direct emphasis

on signification, but their primary purpose remained the justification for a +/+

approach to performative expression.

4.1.2.3. The quest for historical permission

Rhetoric-as-semantics purports to cover Baroque (or at least German Baroque)

music as a whole. It was, however, primarily developed by Bach scholars, and its

appeal might be explained through its promise to lend historical credence to a highly

attractive image of Bach.

In his Bach monograph, Albert Schweitzer presented a protean, ideally-balanced

vision of Bach: expressive and rational, intense and controlled. His Bach uses a

mixture of word paintings and what Schering would call “symbols of emotions”, with

few “symbols of idea” (see also Blume 1950b: 75-77). Yet his symbols’ lexical clarity

allows Schweitzer to open his book with the claim that “Bach belonged to the order of

objective artists” (1911, I: 1) without seeming too inconsistent.

Schweitzer’s theory is based on analyses of Bach’s text-music relationship. His

examination of Bach’s historical background (ibid, I: 50-96) makes no reference to

contemporaneous music theory or to rhetoric. He seeks no historical precedence or

evidence for his theories of Bach’s musical symbolism (see also Blume 1950b: 73-74;

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Hanheide 1990: 152-157). In this sense, his approach is more reminiscent of Deryck

Cooke’s The Language of Music (1959) than of Affektenlehre theories.

In his analyses of Bach’s vocal music (e.g., Schering 1900, 1942), Schering’s

style and outlook closely resembles Schweitzer’s. Both scholars focus on the

significance of specific motives, using highly graphic, concrete terms.6 Schering and

his successors, however, were historical musicologists; they needed a historical basis

for their theories, and sought it in 17th- and 18th-century discourse on musical rhetoric.

This might be a scholarly equivalent to a phenomenon which Dreyfus (1992:

300; 1995) and Taruskin (1995: 101, 147, and passim) have observed among

“historical” performers: the quest for permission, the refusal to trust one’s musical

intuitions without documentary backing. Schweitzer was content to base his theories

and analyses on musical insight; writers like Schering would not allow themselves to

do so without establishing at least a semblance of historical credibility.

Their quest has, in turn, served performers in their quest for permission. Gustav

Leonhardt stated recently that his style is based more on his direct experience with old

instruments than on theoretical study and reflection (in Sherman 1997: 203). Fabian

(2003: 207 and passim) argued that rhetoric-as-speech has been revived by performers

(including pianists like Tureck, Rosen and Gould) before it received serious scholarly

examination. Their musical (and, in some cases, organological) insights have led them

to recognise – and realise in sound – key musical features that were missed earlier,

and their performances might well have influenced scholarly research on the subject.

For some musicians, however, the need for a credible historical-theoretical

footing remained; and rhetoric-as-semantics theories proved a useful source of

authority. As Peter Seymour (1992: 919) put it, “the theoretical justification offered

by the doctrine of rhetoric surely allows the performer greater freedom for his or her

own inspiration and imagination because these can be based on discipline, not on

anarchy” – and historical discipline at that.

6 Schering seeks out philosophical and theological implications more frequently than Schweitzer (in this, being closer to Spitta than to Schweitzer). Unlike Schmitz, Schering does not make explicit references to specific rhetorical figures as named in Baroque treatises. However, it could be argued that Schmitz merely sticks rhetorical labels to an otherwise Schweitzer-like analysis.

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4.1.3. Rhetoric as structure

Rhetoric-as-semantics theories focus primarily on Inventio and Decoratio (A.

Schmitz 1970: 66). However, some Baroque treatises also devote attention to

Dispositio – the shaping of complete movements. This has not been entirely ignored

by Affektenlehre theorists (ibid: 64; Unger 1941: 46-54; Damman 1967: 125-127;

Krones 1997: 824-825) or by performers who emulated them (Wenzinger 1968: 39;

Harnoncourt 1988: 119). Nonetheless, Seymour’s assessment that scholarly

investigation into rhetoric consists “primarily in the recognition of musical figures,

not so much in terms of structures” (1992: 918) seems largely correct.

Among the performers examined in this dissertation, only Philippe Herreweghe

placed rhetoric-as-structure at the heart of his discourse. I therefore defer detailed

discussion to the section devoted to his aesthetic premises (pp. 107ff below).

4.1.4. Rhetoric as ornament

In Baroque treatises, rhetoric was sometimes considered “separately from a

consideration of the text and its concomitant emotions”. In the context of

performance, in particular, it was often deemed “a system of ornament rather than

persuasion” (Butt 1994: 46; see also Emery 1954).

For modern readers, “decoration” and “ornamentation” might imply something

lightweight, less meaningful and expressive. Baroque musicians would not necessarily

have shared this view: Butt (1990: 17) cites several sources, from Praetorious

onwards, which strongly associated “free ornamentation” and “rhetoric” with

“[e]xpression and arousal of the Affekts”. The link between rhetoric and

ornamentation, while at odds with rhetoric-as-semantics, does not invalidate rhetoric’s

relevance for achieving performative intensity (ibid: 18). Also, Baroque treatises often

promoted a +/+ performance aesthetics (Butt 1994: 49-50), a fact which arguably

matters more than whether they cited the word “rhetoric” in that context.

4.1.5. Summary

Rhetoric-as-ornament was presented here to cover the full spectrum of 20th-

century understanding of Baroque rhetoric. This strand is part of the critique of

Figurenlehre theories; it is not frequently cited by Bach performers.

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The other three strands are of central importance in several performers’

discourse. Rhetoric-as-speech is probably the least controversial and the most

influential. It is accepted even by authors who reject the rhetoric-as-semantics theories

(e.g., Rifkin, in Sherman 1997: 387-388). In helping to generate performances of

greater flexibility and local momentum, it has arguably provided a firmer basis for

performative expression than arcane conceptions of rhetoric-as-semantics (Butt 1991:

84-85). I devoted more space to the latter because it is central to the discourse of

several major performers – not least the two musicians who form the focal point of

this chapter.

4.2. Nikolaus Harnoncourt

4.2.1. Harnoncourt’s premises

Harnoncourt, like Richter, is regarded as a romantic, expressive artist – and a

sober, calculating historicist. In part, this relates to contradictions within his own

persona, “Harnoncourt the fiery polemicist and Harnoncourt the man of sentiment

sharing an intermittently uneasy co-existence” (Wigmore 1992). Harnoncourt himself

sometimes presents inconsistency as a positive virtue (see, for example, Harnoncourt

1989: 7), and seeks out internal conflict in the music he performs.

4.2.1.1. The modernisation of early music

music is not there to soothe people’s nerves or bring them relaxation, but rather, to open their eyes, to give them a good shaking, even to frighten them. (Harnoncourt 1991: 11)

Harnoncourt is a historical performer; even when conducting “modern”

instruments, he continues to support specific interpretive decisions by appealing to

historical considerations. His repertoire, likewise, contains little 20th-century music.

Despite this, he regards the neglect of contemporary music and the quest for historical

performance as related signs of abnormality in contemporary culture (e.g.,

Harnoncourt 1988: 14-16; cf. Morgan 1988). In the past, he argues, musicians thrived

on music of their own time; when they performed historical music, they “translated” it

to their musical language, as Mendelssohn did with Bach. Today, however, we do not

have a musical language that is as meaningful to us as Mendelssohn’s was in the

1830s. Under these circumstances, a historical style of performance is our best hope

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for achieving a performance relevant to today’s needs (Harnoncourt 1988: 23-24;

1989: 53).

Harnoncourt regards his own performances of historical music as attempting to

reveal its inner meaning; in particular, he sees his mission in dispelling the cherished

yet dangerous illusion that music should be beautiful and comprehensible. It is this

illusion which drives listeners away from modern music – which fulfils its function by

“reflecting the crisis of an age” (1988: 21) – and into a false perception that historical

music can be enjoyed without any effort or discomfort. Performers can help rectify

this unhealthy situation by de-familiarising historical music, revealing its expressive

richness and power. Such performances might facilitate the return of “the attentive

listening attitude”, which modern western listeners have “discarded” (ibid: 136), and

eventually facilitate a true appreciation of contemporary music (ibid: 12).

4.2.1.2. Harnoncourt’s theory of rhetoric

music prior to 1800 speaks, while subsequent music paints. The former must be understood, since anything that is spoken presupposes understanding. The latter affects us by means of moods which need not be understood, because they should be felt. (Harnoncourt 1988: 39)

Rhetoric-as-semantics fills a central role in Harnoncourt’s philosophy. It enables

him to claim Baroque composers themselves sought to challenge their listeners,

explain present-day misunderstanding of their music with reference to a lost code, and

develop a style of performance which aims at reconstructing this code – all on the

basis of a respectable orthodoxy in German musicology.

The contrast between “speech” and “painting” is technically equivalent to

distinction between Baroque rhetoric-as-speech and the romantic ideal of long,

sustained melodies. Harnoncourt, however, adds an ethical dimension to this

distinction. He contends that “the sostenuto, the sweeping melodic line, the modern

legato” (1988: 25) was introduced to increase music’s immediate, facile appeal and

demolish the aesthetics of Musik als Klangrede, a term Harnoncourt borrowed from

Mattheson to designate rhetoric-as-semantics.

According to Harnoncourt’s “Origin and Development of Music as Speech

(Klangrede)” (1988: 129-136), the entire Baroque era, from Monteverdi onwards,

subscribed to this ideal. Composers gradually perfected a system of musical “words”,

which provided even instrumental music with extra-musical meaning. Bach took

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speech-like figures that have entered instrumental music and brought them back into

text-settings, and “added the entire apparatus of counterpoint to, and integrated it

with, the principles of rhetoric” (ibid: 134).

This narrative closely resembles Schering’s (1974: 87-88), whose work

Harnoncourt openly admires. Both writers believe that Baroque music was dominated

by conceptual symbols of ideas, whereas the 19th century was dominated by symbols

of feelings; both reveal a preference for the former, and both present Bach as the

pinnacle of their respective narrative. They part company, however, in their approach

to performance. Harnoncourt believes that it is the performer, not the annotator, who

should make the music speak. This is directly opposed to Schering’s x/- approach (see

p. 53 above).

Although he never mentions Schweitzer, Harnoncourt is actually closer to him

than to any of the Figurenlehre theorists in his approach to performance. The two

musicians share an atomistic, lexical view of Bach’s expressive means, and a +/+

approach to performative expression. Consequently, they both oppose long sostenuto

lines, favouring highly-inflected, speech-like performances (cf. Schweitzer 1911, I:

363), with detailed articulation and accentuation and due attention to contrasts

between figures. Schweitzer’s occasional yet inconsistent advocacy of fast tempi (cf.

Schweitzer I: 381; II: 400-401), and his consistent call for upbeat phrasing (ibid, I:

369, 375; II: 381, 395-396) are also echoed in Harnoncourt’s performances.

4.2.2. Harnoncourt’s practices

Harnoncourt’s verbal discourse is rife with images of contrasts, dialectics and

struggle. This even affects his interpretation of the original notation: he complains

against the prevailing tendency, in performance and editing alike, to correct seemingly

inconsistent performance markings. In his view, these markings invariably represent

an intentional discrepancy;7 therefore, they should be retained in editions – and

highlighted in performance.

Given these views, Harnoncourt could well be expected to promote a dramatic,

knife-edge-balance vision of Bach’s music, realised in performance replete with harsh 7 For illustration, compare Harnoncourt’s analysis of the marking in BWV 47/4 (1988: 43) with John Butt’s (1990: 125). Harnoncourt’s discussion (1986: 42-44) of the oboe slurs in the Mass’s First Kyrie (oboe d’amore parts, b. 20, in the Dresden parts) likewise ignores the fact that these parts were not written out by Bach – unlike the flute parts, which do not contain the slurs (K. Geck 2000). He thus ascribes great significance to what might have been a copyist’s error.

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sonorities, deliberate abrasiveness and ugliness. Such a characterisation has even

become part of Teldec’s “official” image of their star conductor: Harnoncourt’s keynote is accent: the sharp contrast, the attack without warning, the abrupt change of mood, the artfully applied shock. (Gurewitch 1995: 13)

Elsewhere, he has been credited with revitalising our image of Bach, revealing

disturbing, even violent features which were concealed by previous performance

traditions (cf. McClary 1987: 61n; Taruskin 1995: 307-315).

In my view, such descriptions are one-sided. Even within Harnoncourt’s own

ideology, a constantly abrasive approach is not necessarily advisable: frontal assault

spares audiences some of the effort in understanding, and is therefore not entirely

consistent with encouraging attentive listening. For Harnoncourt, “music that speaks

directly to the emotions” (1988: 25) is the problem, not the solution. It is too

comprehensible. Perhaps for this reason, his performances feature a mixture of sharp

and more subtle projection of tension and unease (see 4.2.2.3, pp. 99ff below).

4.2.2.1. The evolution of Harnoncourt’s performance style

Harnoncourt’s earlier recordings (up until the mid-1970s) were perceived as

revolutionary at the time (see p. 100 below). However, while his stated aesthetics

proclaimed the virtues of ultra-expressive performances, these early performances

were often condemned as under-expressive. A comparison with later recordings can

strengthen this impression.

The changes in Harnoncourt’s style can be explained in several different ways.

Technical considerations probably played a part. In the 1950s and 1960s, Harnoncourt

and his colleagues, the founders of Concentus Musicus Wien, were engaged in the

largely auto-didactic activity of learning to play unfamiliar old instruments. They did

this in their spare time, alongside their work as orchestral musicians (most of them

were members of the Wiener Symphoniker). The detailed articulation and dynamics

which characterise Harnoncourt’s later performances might not have been feasible

then, and difficulties were exacerbated by the recording conditions (Harnoncourt

1988: 85-86).

The uninflected character of Harnoncourt’s early style might also have been a

reaction against the playing style he was accustomed to as an orchestral musician (cf.

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Fabian 2003: 246).8 His writings reveal little respect for the way Bach was performed

at the time; he explicitly tried to forge “an interpretation which ignores the whole

Romantic performance tradition” (1989: 44).9 After leaving the Wiener Symphoniker

in 1969, Harnoncourt’s interpretations became freer (see also Mertl 1999: 130-131).

He eventually forged an eclectic style, combining the influences of Leonhardt and his

earlier self with those of “traditional” conductors.

During this time Harnoncourt gradually became a conductor himself. He

initially directed his ensemble from the cello; his biographer describes a working

relationship in which Harnoncourt was more “first among equals” than authoritarian

director (Mertl 1999: 133-137). When he was invited as guest-conductor to the Zürich

Opera in the early 1970s, he wanted to employ the same mode of direction; their

refusal forced him onto the podium for the first time (ibid: 136). As his cycle of the

Bach cantatas (1971-1989) progressed, Harnoncourt gradually moved from cello to

podium (first directing everything from the cello, then conducting the choruses, then

conducting arias as well, and finally conducting everything). His biographer explains

this move in terms of increasing efficiency in recording sessions (ibid); however, it

also probably relates to his increasingly detailed interpretations, which were harder to

realise without establishing direct eye contact with the entire ensemble.

His independent conducting career also brought him back into contact with

traditional symphony orchestras, and with the Classical and Romantic repertoire

which he previously knew as an orchestral player. This might have provided further

encouragement to give free reign to his “romantic” impulses (Mertl 1999: 207-208).

Whatever the explanation, Harnoncourt’s Bach performances gradually became

more varied and flexible, coming closer to a full realisation of his +/+ stance towards

rhetoric-as-semantics. An account of his salient stylistic traits, and their relationship to

his personalised brand of rhetorical thinking, can be placed in sharper relief against

the “orthodox”, rhetoric-as-speech-inspired style developed by Gustav Leonhardt.

8 It might also be related to neo-classical influences, in particular Harnoncourt’s early association with Hindemith, who conducted Concentus in its “inoffizielles Debüt” – a performance of Monteverdi’s L’Orfeo (Mertl 1999: 278). Harnoncourt also quoted extensively from Hindemith’s Bach essay (Hindemith 1952: 12-16, in Harnoncourt 1989: 111-112) in support of the restoration of original instruments. 9 In more recent interviews, Harnoncourt makes explicit references to pre-war recordings, stating that the current performance style is in fact quite new, “between 30 and 40 years old” (in Canning 1991: 73). However, in 1986 he still believed that the “modern” style he was rebelling against could be traced back to Mendelssohn’s Bach revival in the 1820s.

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4.2.2.2. Rhetoric as speech and rhetoric as semantics: A comparison of Harnoncourt and Leonhardt

Richard Taruskin (1995: 149) presented two recordings of the Brandenburg

Concerti – the Leonhardt/Kuijken recording (1976) and Harnoncourt’s second version

with Concentus Musicus Wien (1981) – as diametrically opposed; Daniel Leech-

Wilkinson (1984: 14) and Dorottya Fabian (2003: 246) presented them as examples of

the same approach. There are arguments in favour of both views.

Harnoncourt’s prescriptions on how to make music “speak” are similar to the

practical applications of rhetoric-as-speech described above ( 4.1.1, p. 85ff above). In

this, his performance aesthetics resemble those of the Netherlands School, reflecting

his collaboration with musicians like Leonhardt, Brüggen and the Kuijken brothers in

the 1950s and 1960s.

Harnoncourt is particularly adamant in viewing articulation as the key element,

to which all others should be subordinate (1988: 39-49, 90-97). He proposes an

“interwoven pattern of hierarchies”, consisting of metre (strong and weak beats),

harmony (dissonances should be stressed, their resolutions unstressed), rhythm

(emphasising elongated notes, even on weak beats) and emphasis (on melodic peaks).

These hierarchies combine to “breathe rhythm and life” into performances, replacing

“machine-like regularity” with a more humane, speech-like approach (ibid: 40).

Thus far, there would be little conflict between Harnoncourt and Leonhardt; and

during the years of their collaborative efforts (from the mid-1950s to the mid-1970s),

the actual contrasts between them were subtle. By the mid-1980s, however, the

stylistic differences between the two directors have increased. Both Harnoncourt and

Leonhardt have retained their common preference for short, distinct phrases; but they

diverged over the degree and manner in which different figures were to be

distinguished from each other.

The cycle of Bach’s complete church cantatas recorded by the two directors

constitutes valuable documentation of their evolving styles. They contributed

recordings in parallel, without direct collaboration (though they shared several

musicians). Leonhardt’s style did not change dramatically in the course of the cycle.10

10 Fabian (1997; 2003: 235-241) notes substantial differences between Leonhardt’s 1953 recording of the Goldberg Variations on the one hand, and his 1965 and 1978 recordings on the other. Similarly, his recordings of Bach cantatas with Alfred Deller (1954) and Agnes Giebel (1965) present a different style – more “objective”, less detailed in articulation – compared to his recordings of the same works

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Harnoncourt, however, became increasingly interventionist, exploratory and varied as

the cycle progressed, and the difference between him and Leonhardt increase

accordingly.11

Leonhardt’s articulation mostly consists of gentle non legato. Downbeat

accentuations can be quite forceful (especially in chorales); but for the most part, his

emphases are ever-present but not strongly highlighted. At times, one could almost

mistake his articulation for a continuous legato; and it is this gentler manner that

pervades his recording of the Mass (see, however, pp. 233f below).

Harnoncourt employs legato more frequently than Leonhardt, but usually in

short, clearly-demarcated spans. His dynamic range also widened gradually as the

cycle progressed, through a combination of stark, terraced contrasts and subtle, local

modifications, tracing the melodic contours of individual voices (leading, sometimes,

to simultaneous crescendi and diminuendi).

In polyphonic textures, this makes it easier to follow particular lines, but harder

to comprehend the texture as a whole. Harnoncourt thus goes against an almost self-

evident assumption that clarity should be paramount:12 his ideal is to reveal textural

complexity without achieving full clarity. In a well-articulated performance, Our ears penetrate [the texture] in depth and we clearly hear the different levels, which nonetheless merge to form a whole. On the foundation level we hear the “design,” the plan; on another level we find accented dissonances; in the next, a voice which is softly slurred in its diction, and another which is strongly articulated. All of this is at the same time, synchronized. The listener is not able to comprehend everything contained in the piece at once, but wanders through the various levels of the piece, always hearing something different. (Harnoncourt 1988: 44; see also 1986: 36)

within the Teldec cycle. On the other hand, there is far less contrast within that cycle, or between it and his subsequent recordings, in the 1990s, of Bach’s vocal music (see discography). 11 John Butt (1999a: 183) notes that as the cycle progressed “Leonhardt takes some of the expressive force of Harnoncourt, and Harnoncourt in particular develops something close to the metrical pacing of Leonhardt”, thereby concluding that their resemblance increased. However, Leonhardt’s adoption of longer note values and varied dynamics is, in my hearing, rather subtle; whereas Harnoncourt’s adoption of metrical pacing sometimes results in forceful emphases rarely approached by Leonhardt. 12 Here, it is arguably Leonhardt who fully realises one of Schweitzer’s dicta (1911, I: 380) – the demand for constantly yet subtly modulated phrasing.

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4.2.2.3. “Frontal assault” and “subtle discomfort”

As Harnoncourt explicitly points out (1988: 45), this ideal of partial clarity can

be related to his more general pursuit of subtle irritation: not frontal assault, but rather

a discreet challenge to the listener (see p. 95 above). This goal increasingly finds

expression in his performances. Doubt, discomfort and unease can lurk beneath

deceptively comforting surfaces: full, sensuous sonorities; legato phrasing; and a

general avoidance of sharp edges and clipped note- and phrase-endings. But this is

combined with internal restlessness. The “legato” consists of “sostenuto fragments”:

short spans of smooth articulation, their caesuras rubbing against the beat and clashing

with similar caesuras in other voices. Dynamic and agogic nuances are constantly

manipulated. Discomfort arises from the accumulated effect of such small gestures.

“Frontal assault” and “subtle discomfort” are both rare in Harnoncourt’s earlier

Bach recordings; they become increasingly prominent as the cantata cycle progresses.

The full gamut is already present in his 1978 recording of Cantata 81.

The tenor aria (no. 3) represents his “frontal assault” manner: the musical storm

is depicted with sharp, ferocious accents, and a strident string sonority aided by

almost constant forte dynamics. The alto aria (no. 1), on the other hand, represents his

“subtle discomfort” manner.13 The sonority is mostly soft and sensuous. The

articulation consists mostly sostenuto fragments; slurred groups cross beyond the bar-

line (compare Schweitzer 1911, II: 392), subtly undermining the clarity of metre (a

frequent feature in Harnoncourt, but a rare one in Leonhardt). The overall affect is of

constant local movement which disturbs, rather than enhances, forward progression.

The bass aria (no. 5) combines both approaches. The storm is depicted by rising

and falling dynamic contours within a series of sostenuto fragments. However,

Harnoncourt renders the orchestra’s à Ä ± figures (bars 16 and simile) – an imitation of

the bass’s “Schweig, schweig” – with sharp sforzandi.

Harnoncourt generates subtle unease even when most musicians would think it

is uncalled for. For example, in the ostensibly optimistic “Beglückte Herde, Jesu

Schafe” (BWV 104/5, recorded 1980), the meticulous shaping of both voice and 13 It is interesting to compare this performance of BWV 81 with Harnoncourt’s 1973 recording of BWV 25/1, which contains similar figures. In the earlier recording, the phrasing seems more typical of Leonhardt’s style: figures are distinctly separated, but not heavily emphasised. There is less dynamic nuance, and a greater sense of flow. Cantata 25 is a clear example of what Taruskin (1995: 307-315) called “Bach’s dark vision” (contempt for reason and earthly life), but Harnoncourt’s performance contains few of the features that made Taruskin praise him for “facing up” to that vision.

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orchestra14 generates a series of sostenuto fragments, each with its own dynamic

profile. The aria is thus characterised by a halting effect, all the more disturbing for its

contrast with the local directionality of its constituent phrase fragments.

The common feature of “frontal assault” and “subtle discomfort” is irregularity

and unpredictability, contrasting with the reassuring regularity that characterises many

of Leonhardt’s performances (see pp. 194ff, 214f and 234ff below). A fine illustration

within the cantata cycle is the contrast between Harnoncourt’s richly-hesitant reading

of BWV 99/1 and Leonhardt’s confident rendition of the Bach’s re-arrangement of the

same chorus in BWV 100/1 (both recordings were made in 1980).

4.2.3. Harnoncourt’s recordings of the Mass

Harnoncourt’s first recording of the Mass was made in 1968, before the

beginning of his Teldec cycle; the second was made in 1986, when that cycle was

approaching its conclusion. The comparison between them vividly illustrates

Harnoncourt’s stylistic evolution in the interim period.

4.2.3.1. The 1968 version

The 1968 version was the first recording of the Mass on period instruments. It

was received upon publication as revolutionary. Most reviewers focused on the same

innovatory features: small performing forces, fast tempi, detailed articulation, and the

largely unfamiliar sound of the period instrument ensemble. Admirers like Harden

(1968) and Gilmore (1970) considered this a healthy corrective to overblown

traditions. Detractors like Lang (1970) and, to a lesser extent, Robertson (1968),

Donington (1974: 75) and Mellers (1980: 313-315), thought that Harnoncourt’s

reduced forces and restrained manners were insufficient in projecting the music’s

expressiveness and grandeur.

To listeners like the present writer, accustomed to HIP styles, it is difficult to

perceive how iconoclastic Harnoncourt’s rendition sounded in 1968 (see also Stauffer

1997b: 202-204). It is interesting to compare these early reactions with Gordon 14 The bass here is Philippe Huttenlocher, who performed frequently with Harnoncourt (he also took the title-role in Harnoncourt’s Zürich production of Monteverdi’s L’Orfeo); he often seems more at ease with Harnoncourt’s detailed phrasing, compared to several of his colleagues in the Teldec series (see also Golomb 2001). In his recordings with Rilling, however, he stands out against the latter’s relatively uninflected readings of the orchestral parts.

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Reynolds’ review of the 1986 CD re-issue. Reynolds praises the performance’s

“dispassionate” character and “translucent” sound, adding that several “affectations of

‘authentic’ playing are mercifully absent”.15 A performance that once seemed

revolutionary was now received, in retrospect, as “safe”.

Gilmore (1970: 23) places particular emphasis on the orchestra’s almost revolutionary approach to matters of phrasing and articulation. Instead of forcing the phrase into one long curved line [...] the phrase structure is allowed to break naturally into many smaller note groups.

This description is largely correct, including the attribution of this approach to the

orchestra alone: the choir’s articulation is usually smoother, their phrasing less

detailed. This might be related to the peculiar arrangement at the recording session

(shown in photographs accompanying the original LPs). Harnoncourt directed the

ensemble from the cello; Hans Gillesberger conducted the choral passages with his

back to the orchestra. This arrangement, which allowed no eye contact between the

two directors, persisted in the earlier volumes of the cantata cycle, before

Harnoncourt’s own move to the podium (see p. 96 above).

Harnoncourt’s approach to articulation is more distinctly audible in the arias;

the soloists seem more attuned to his approach than the choir. It is interesting, for

example, to compare Helen Watts’s singing of the Qui sedes (CD 1: 19) and Agnus

dei in this performance with her readings of these arias for Münchinger and Somary.

Her vocal production is less intense in Harnoncourt’s performance, her dynamic range

narrower, her phrases shorter and her articulation more detailed.16 In each case, her

singing is closely attuned to her accompanists.

Harnoncourt’s overall approach in 1968 can be described as anti-romantic – in

all three senses. There are few attempts at musical drama, whether cumulative or

contrastive. The approach to the Confiteor is especially revealing. Harnoncourt

believes that Bach’s tempo markings should be interpreted as demanding a change of

emotional character, but that the pulse should remain virtually the same throughout

(1968: 10). His actual performance makes few concessions even for character: tempo,

dynamics and articulation remain virtually unaltered.

15 Ironically, his prime example of such affectation – the messa di voce effect – was promoted by Harnoncourt himself in later recordings. 16 The latter elements are more clearly evident in the Qui sedes, which is also one of the most detailed and actively-shaped movements in the 1968 performance.

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Harnoncourt’s 1968 notes contain a substantial discussion of Bach’s symbolism

and rhetoric in the Mass (ibid: 11-12; reprinted Harnoncourt 1989: 191-198), but few

indications of how this might affect the performance. The complete package –

performance and annotation – is not inconsistent with Schering’s +/- philosophy.

Harnoncourt’s approach thus bears a surprising resemblance to the “Lutheran”

school, and not only in its use of a boys’ choir. While many of his basic parameters

are different, his consistent approach to them is similar: once the timbre, articulation,

tempo and dynamics are established at the beginning of a movement, they are rarely

altered – though, to use Butt’s terms (p. 43f above), this is closer to “classical

modernism” than “romantic modernism”. Only in articulation does Harnoncourt apply

more nuance and detail than most of his contemporaries.

4.2.3.2. The 1986 version

While the 1968 Mass goes no further than a rhetoric-as-speech approach, the

1986 version presents the consequences of Harnoncourt’s intense commitment to his

own rhetoric-as-semantics ideals. It contains few examples of Harnoncourt’s “frontal

assault” manner, but “subtle discomfort” is a common feature.

The most immediately-apparent difference between the two performances is the

employment of a mixed chorus. At the time, Harnoncourt’s official view remained

that period-instrument readings of Bach’s sacred vocal music should feature male-

only vocal forces (he did employ mixed forces when performing Bach’s Passions with

the Amsterdam Concertgebouw Orchestra). His employment of female soloists in

1968 already presented an exception to this rule. At the time, Harnoncourt claimed

that “this work goes beyond the limits of music for practical use”, thereby allowing

the director to make exceptions (1968: 9). In 1986, he claimed that the music’s

connection with Dresden associated it with Catholicism, the opera, and Italian musical

aesthetics generally, thereby justifying the injection of “the sensuous flair of adults to

the music” (1986: 29).

It is interesting to note, however, that after the conclusion of his cantata cycle,

Harnoncourt gradually abandoned male-only forces. His 1993 Johannes-Passion and

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2000 Matthäus-Passion feature mixed vocal forces alongside period instruments.17 In

this sense, the 1986 Mass indeed proved prophetic.

The Arnold-Schoenberg-Chor has been working with Harnoncourt since its

foundation in 1978. In a recent interview (in Mertl 1999: 174-175), its director, Erwin

Ortner, proclaimed his adherence to Harnoncourt’s Klangrede ideals, and his desire to

emulate Harnoncourt’s detailed approach to articulation and accentuation (see also p.

149 below on Ortner’s own recording of the Mass).

These shared ideals are clearly felt in the 1986 Mass, which Harnoncourt

conducted from the podium. The Arnold-Schoenberg-Chor, unlike their 1968

counterparts, projects the same type of articulation and accentuation as the orchestra.

The soloists here are, like their 1968 colleagues, also attuned to Harnoncourt’s

requirements.

To many critics, the use of a mixed choir signalled a return to more traditional

values. Other apparent signals to the same effect included: slower tempi; a wider

dynamic range; a larger ensemble, producing more bass-heavy sonorities; and a wider

articulatory spectrum, with many more instances of legato. If one also takes into

account the fact that, by this time, the novelty value of period instruments had partly

worn off, the relative apathy that greeted this recording is not surprising. To some

reviewers, it appeared as if Harnoncourt has reneged on his revolutionary promise

(e.g., Woss 1987; Anderson 1987; Towe 1991c: 57; see, however, p. 148 below).

The impression that Harnoncourt has moved backwards might also relate to the

absence of “frontal assault” in this recording. The specific elements associated with

Harnoncourt’s most aggressive gestures – forte, marcato, strident sonorities – usually

appear in the context of celebratory choruses, where they strengthen rhythmic

security; and, with the possible exception of the Sanctus, they are not retained

unremittingly throughout a movement. In Cum sancto spiritu and the Vivace setting of

Et expecto, for example, sharp accentuation is reserved primarily for homophonic

passages and for the delineation of specific figures (the strings’ à Ö---µ in Cum sancto,

the £ Öµ ± corta figure in Expecto).

Harnoncourt takes greater care to differentiate the character of the Confiteor’s

three sections than in 1968. The Confiteor is relatively gentle. Harnoncourt guarantees 17 Harnoncourt already made two exceptions in the 1980s, besides the Mass: the Motets and several secular cantatas. Presumably the latter benefited from the same Dresden connection that he used as justification for mixed forces in the Mass.

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textural clarity and independent shaping for the polyphonic strands; he articulates the

metre and accentuates syncopations, but more gently than elsewhere. He broadens the

tempo marginally at the adagio, and softens the dynamics and articulation further.

The sharp accentuation and brash sonorities (with highlighted trumpets) at the

Vivace’s entry thus emerge all the more clearly. Harnoncourt does not maintain these

sonorities throughout the movement, allowing a sense of relaxation and growth

(especially in the fugal-exposition passages).

Surprisingly, several movements which lack “frontal assault” features sound

more discomforting. One illustration is the Gloria/Et in terra (CD 1: 3-4). Phrasing,

sonority and dynamics are all softer in this pair of movements; trumpets and drums

are mostly subdued. In the Gloria, the variety of phrasing patterns illustrates

Harnoncourt’s general theory of polyphonic articulation (see p. 98 above). Several

features in his reading undermine the confidence usually associated with this

movement – most notably, instances of deliberately hesitant phrasing. The orchestral

bass, for example, is shaped as series of legato fragments, each with its own subtly-

contoured dynamics, often rubbing against the metre:

Example 4.1 Gloria, bars 9-13; Harnoncourt 1986 (CD 1: 3)

The movement begins and ends softly. Several homophonic choral passages are

rendered forte (bars 29-33, 45-49, 81-83), and sharper accentuation is introduced

towards the end (bars 87ff); but these “flashes” of confidence further emphasise the

general hesitation. A possible interpretation is that Harnoncourt was aiming at the

expression of awe, rather than celebration.

Harnoncourt makes his intentions clearer with reference to the Et in terra: There is always an element of the heroic in the Gloria, and the use of trumpets produces a kind of dominating attitude. But the “Et in terra pax” produces an entirely new sound: not only is it centred on “peace” (pax), but the word “pax” is always cried out or shouted, suggesting the ardent call of men who have not yet received that which has been promised to them. (1986: 32)

In practice, Harnoncourt follows a similar pattern to the Gloria: subtly-clashing

“sostenuto fragments” with independent dynamic contours, are contrasted with

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isolated passages of greater confidence (bars 38-45,18 57-60, 66-70). The final

passages (bars 70ff) feature more uniform dynamics, allowing the movement to end

with greater confidence.

This is not entirely consistent with Harnoncourt’s reference to “cries and

shouts”; perhaps the passages I described as “confident” are meant to express this.

However, the relatively subdued character of this movement is consistent with the

view that peace is sought, rather than won.

“Subtle discomfort” is more pronounced in several movements expressive of

darker emotions (see also pp. 176f, 194ff and 234ff below). For example, in the Qui

sedes (CD 1: 20), the basic pattern of dynamics and articulation is largely similar to

the 1968 version (CD 1: 19); but they are projected with greater intensity. While many

of the notated staccati are realised in broader tenuto non legato, the accents – on

downbeats and syncopations alike – are sharper, and wave-like dynamic nuances are

applied both more frequently and on a wider range. This, together with the oboe’s

frequent deviation from the notated slurs (Ö - - - - µ Ä ' Ö - - - µ instead of Ö - - - - µ Ö - - - - µ),

creates a sense of constant activity and restlessness.

Harnoncourt’s general image of Bach, as presented in his writings, is within the

knife-edge-balance approach. His 1986 Mass is not among the most extreme

representations of this image; arguably, he forgoes several opportunities for “frontal

assault” (cf. p. 238 below). His reading offers, however, a persistent if subtle

challenge to calm, orderly views of Bach’s music in general, and the Mass in

particular. His application of a distinctive, +/+ rhetoric-as-semantics logic results in a

rich pattern of internal clashes. Obviously, the more complex the texture, the more

opportunities there are for such clashes. Thus, polyphony – often a symbol of Bach at

his most intellectual and ordered – becomes the locus for internal conflict, as the

semi-independent lines within the complex texture disrupt each other (see also pp.

164ff, 194ff and 234ff below).

18 Bar 46 is already subdued.

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4.3. Philippe Herreweghe Philippe Herreweghe’s links to the rhetorical school are obvious. From 1977 to

1989, he served as Gustav Leonhardt’s chorus-master for the latter’s portion in the

Teldec cantata cycle; he has also collaborated with Harnoncourt and Koopman,

among others. To this day, he expresses admiration for these musicians, and regards

his collaboration with Leonhardt as a formative experience for himself and his choir.

Bach’s music has been central to Herreweghe’s discography at least since the

release of his first recording of the Matthäus-Passion in 1985. The rest of his

repertoire, however, has changed markedly. Until the early 1990s, he focused on

Renaissance and early Baroque music (although his discography already featured

music by Mendelssohn and Brahms). More recently, he shifted his attention to later

music. In 1991, he founded the Orchestre des Champs Elysées in order to perform

Classical and Romantic music on period instruments; since 1998, he has been music

director of the Flanders Philharmonic Orchestra. He also increasingly performs 20th-

century music, while gradually excluding Renaissance and Baroque music (except

German Baroque) from his repertoire (Herreweghe 2001: 45-47; Stewart 2001: 23).

Some changes in his Bach interpretations might be related to this shift.

4.3.1. Herreweghe’s premises

Herreweghe’s Bach image is not radically different from Harnoncourt’s; but

their performance styles differ markedly. There are further differences between the

two conductors’ views on the performer’s role in realising Bach’s musical rhetoric.

Even within Herreweghe’s own output, theory and practice do not match well.

However, both have changed over the last twenty years, and these modifications have

also brought them closer together.

4.3.1.1. Herreweghe’s theory of rhetoric

4.3.1.1.1. The Importance of Rhetoric

Musical rhetoric was always central to Herreweghe’s verbal discourse on Bach.

His 1984 Matthäus-Passion was accompanied by an essay entitled “Bach and Musical

rhetoric”, where he declared that “musical rhetoric is THE ONLY VALID KEY TO

ALL MUSIC FROM JOSQUIN TO BACH” (1985: 27; emphasis provided). Whereas

Harnoncourt’s essays contain few bibliographic references and clearly present his

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personalised slant on rhetoric-as-semantics, Herreweghe explicitly cites primary and

secondary sources alike, and his views closely reflect the theories presented in the

secondary literature he cites (especially Schmitz, Unger and Damman).

Like Harnoncourt, Herreweghe stresses the disquieting potential of musical

rhetoric. In his view, Renaissance music aimed at “divine perfection” and

“equilibrium”. Baroque musical rhetoric, on the other hand, aims at “moving,

unbalancing” the listener, arousing in him “a succession of emotional states” which

would render him “more receptive to the seduction of a message” (ibid: 28-29;

compare Stravinsky 1947: 31-32).

Herreweghe believes that this knife-edge-balance view should directly affect

performance; a +/+ rhetorical performance can render Bach’s music “much more

significant and alive” (1985: 32). His is also a decidedly IO-approach: “the contents

of a musical work, its expression and its meaning” must be valued above “paltry

squabbles” and “fallacious quarrels” on performance practice issues (ibid: 26).

In this sense, his views have not changed: in a recent interview (Herreweghe

1999b), he still declares that his starting points as an interpreter are the musical

figures, their significance, and their relationship with the words (their rhythm and

their intrinsic meaning – rhetoric-as-speech and rhetoric-as-semantics). However, his

use of the word “rhetoric” itself has altered. In 1985, he viewed rhetoric as a key to

the music’s content. In a more recent interview (Herreweghe 2001: 47), however, he

cites “rhetoric” alongside “ornaments” and “articulation”: technical features that

performers have to master, but that are clearly distinct from the pursuit of the music’s

meaning and interpretation.

4.3.1.1.2. Rhetoric as structure, and the function of styles

One of the main differences between Herreweghe and his predecessors is the

focus on rhetoric-as-structure. This issue was mentioned earlier (see p. 91 above), but

I deferred detailed discussion to this point.

Rhetoric-as-structure theories rely on the assumption that individual movements

were formulated along the same lines of a classical speech:

1. Exordium (introduction);

2. Narratio (presenting the issue);

3. Propositio (presenting the speaker’s thesis);

4. Confirmatio (presenting the main arguments supporting the thesis);

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5. Confutatio (refutation of opposing arguments);

6. Peroratio/Conclusio (conclusion).19

Herreweghe (1985: 31) concedes that this scheme can often be collapsed into a

3-part da-capo structure: two similar outer sections framing a contrastive middle

section (see also Seymour 1992: 916). Indeed, Mattheson’s six-part scheme was

probably an expansion of earlier three-part schemes (Unger 1941: 46-50; Butler 1977:

66-68; Bonds 1991: 82). As Bonds stresses (1991: 86-90), Mattheson did not preach a

rigid adherence to his six-part division. Given these facts, and the relations between

Mattheson’s theory and the “enlightenment” discourse of writers like Gottsched (ibid:

83) and Scheibe (ibid: 80-81, 89; see also p. 88 above), one could question the

scheme’s relevance to Bach’s music (see also Buelow 1983).

Nonetheless, Herreweghe helps himself to the generalisation that Mattheson’s

scheme is applicable “to every Baroque work of any length” (1985: 31). He

demonstrates this through an analysis of the Matthäus-Passion’s opening chorus:

1. Exordium: bars 1-16;

2. Narratio: bars 17-38;

3. Propositio: bars 42-51;

4. Confutatio: bars 57-71;

5. Confirmatio: bars 72-82;

6. Peroratio: bars 82-90 (ibid: 30-31).

Notwithstanding a suspicious-looking six-bar gap (bars 51-57),20 a strong case

can be made for Herreweghe’s sketchy analysis. His Exordium is the opening

ritornello. The Narratio presents the main thematic and textual materials, and the

basic textural principle (a dialogue between two choirs juxtaposed with a chorale).

The Propositio continues this dialogue and (in the text) introduces the key notion of

Christ’s sacrifice. The Confutatio presents a more intense musical dialogue,

emphasising (in the text) the believers’ guilt. The Confirmatio is a modified da-capo,

returning to the music of the Narratio and to the idea of Christ’s sacrifice. The

Peroratio is a final repeat of the opening text, returning to the music of the Exordium.

19 This summary is based on Bartel (1997: 68) and Seymour (1992: 916-918). Seymour’s summary, like Herreweghe’s, is based explicitly on Mattheson’s adaptation of Quintilian; Bartel is purportedly a collation of several treatises (see also Butler 1977: 65-72). 20 These bars are the orchestral passage connecting Herreweghe’s “Propositio” and “Confutatio”. Presumably, in the absence of a text, Herreweghe was not sure whether to count this as the end of the “Propositio” or as the introduction to the “Confutatio”.

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Even if one accepts the validity of this analysis, however, it hardly proves the

scheme’s universal applicability. The da-capo principle is not as ubiquitous in Bach’s

music as Herreweghe implies. The Mass, in particular, contains many truncated da-

capos, and many of its movements flow into each other (cf. Stauffer 1997b: 250-252).

This demonstrates that, even when Bach conceived a movement in accordance with a

three- or six-part scheme, he had no qualms about truncating it to facilitate its

introduction into a new context. In this light, Herreweghe’s view that the Mass is

“shaped by the rhetorical system organising the overall musical structure” (1989) is

problematic (see also p. 183 below).

The six-fold scheme does not, in itself, constitute a theory of expression, arousal

or signification. It could, however, encourage analysts and performers to seek and

intensify internal contrasts even in monothematic movements, moving beyond the

confines of Unity of Affect.

Herreweghe’s own +/+ approach would lead one to expect performances rich in

local and global contrasts, detailed in local gestures, and clearly dramatising overall

structures (Herreweghe 1985: 33; 1986: 14). These expectations are further enhanced

through Herreweghe’s emphasis on Bach’s stylistic diversity, especially in relation to

the Mass (see p. 113 below).

Alberto Basso, who wrote liner-notes to many of Herreweghe’s recordings, and

influenced his approach, also stresses Bach’s stylistic diversity. However, he views

Bach’s ultimate aim as the formation of a “synthesis [...] towards absolute

abstraction” (1998: 1), an abstraction which particularly characterises the late works

(ibid: 39-43). This suggests a relatively dispassionate view of Bach, an impression

consistent with other aspects of Herreweghe’s musical-performative philosophy.

4.3.1.2. Herreweghe’s theory of Bach performance

4.3.1.2.1. Cantabile and lyricism

Thanks to his apprenticeship with Leonhardt, Herreweghe is associated with the

Netherlands school of Bach performance. He is, however, a choral conductor, whereas

most of the other prominent Netherlands Baroque specialists are instrumentalists. In

this respect, Herreweghe can be more readily associated with prominent British HIP

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conductors (e.g., Parrott, Gardiner, Christophers, Hickox) known primarily as choral

directors (and, on the other hand, with conductors like Rilling and Richter).

Herreweghe regards his vocal background as one of his main advantages.

Instrumentalists – primarily harpsichordists – helped singers unlearn the damaging

habits of romanticism on the one hand, and of the “motoric” style of Baroque

performance on the other; they helped singers appreciate the centrality of small

motivic units in Baroque music. But the instrumentalists’ influence has not been

entirely beneficial: it inspired a style which was “too edgy, too angular” (Herreweghe,

in Sherman 1997: 281), and thwarted the pursuit of melodic lyricism.

Herreweghe aims for “a balance between organizational cells that are too small

and overly long ones” (ibid; cf. Herreweghe 1999a: 12; Erik van Nevel, in

Baumgartner 2002: 40; and p. 139 below). In a recent interview, he claims that his

own balance has tilted – from an exaggerated emphasis on “detail, articulation,

ornaments” to an increasing pursuit of “longer periods” (Herreweghe 1999b).

In itself, a tendency towards smoother articulation is at odds with rhetoric-as-

speech, but not with rhetoric-as-structure; legato articulation could even facilitate the

shaping of long-range tensions. However, smooth articulation also limits possibilities

for sharp contrasts.

4.3.1.2.2. The collective nature of Bach performance

Herreweghe believes that conducting Renaissance and Baroque music is

fundamentally different from conducting 19th- and 20th-century music. In the latter,

the conductor is meant to “sculpt the sound” and shape every aspect of the

interpretation. In a work like the B minor Mass, on the other hand, “[e]ach musician is

of equal importance”, and the resulting interpretation should emerge from their

collective efforts (in Stewart 2001: 23; see also Herreweghe, in Sherman 1997: 284)

This view reflects a different vision of the musical styles involved. In Baroque

music, it is important to delineate small details; an over-sweeping interpretation might

engulf them. The ideal is, therefore, an interpretation that arises from a dialogue

between individual musicians, each shaping their own lines. This stands at odds with

the articulation of large-scale patterns of tension and release – not to mention striving

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towards climaxes. Herreweghe implies that such an approach might be viable for

Romantic music – but not for Bach.21

In this light, Herreweghe’s insistence on rhetoric-as-structure might be

interpreted as a prescription for bringing out the different characters of individual

sections, rather than incorporating them into over-arching patterns. In particular, the

level of tension in the Confutatio would be different (in most cases, higher) than in the

other sections (Herreweghe, in Sherman 1997: 282; see also p. 183 below). This could

be achieved by pointing out the different characters to the musicians and allowing

them to shape their lines accordingly (compare with Parrott, quoted on p. 125 below).

4.3.1.3. Herreweghe’s Bach image: Balance-as-equilibrium

Herreweghe shares the common view of Bach’s synthesis as the achievement of

a whole that transcends the sum of its parts (see also p. 109 above). He stresses that

Musica Rhetorica was an arousal theory, not an expression theory (1985: 28-29). His

Bach image emphasises symbolism (see esp. Herreweghe 1989) and expression, but

downplays the dramatic element – an emphasis consistent with his admission that his

own artistic temperament is ill-suited for the projection of musical drama (2001: 45).

He draws attention to the emotive impact of individual figures in Bach’s music, and

believes they should be brought out in performance – but with care and

circumspection. For instance, when discussing “Buß und Reu”, Herreweghe draws

attention to the vivid illustration of the word “knirscht” (1985: 30-31; 1999b), and

argues that this should be accentuated by the flutes. However, he emphasises the need

to “reconcile this rhetorical approach with the large line [...] Otherwise, there is a risk

of exaggeration” (1999b).

4.3.2. Herreweghe’s performance style

Herreweghe’s aesthetic ideology for Bach performance thus contains

contradictory goals. He believes that performers should bring out the unsettling,

contrastive elements in Bach’s music – but in a balanced, restrained manner. His

emphasis on vocal style stands potentially at odds with his notion that individual

figures should be strongly projected. His objection to large-scale sculpting potentially

21 His actual performances of 19th-century music, however, are not markedly different in this sense from his renditions of earlier repertoire.

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interferes with his notion of projecting patterns of tension and release – though I

already indicated, on the previous page, one way of resolving this last difficulty.

The notion of a singing style, likewise, does not necessarily negate the

projection of individual figures. As John Butt (1990: 11-15) emphasises, Baroque

treatises indeed enjoined instrumentalists to imitate singers. Singers, however, were

expected to deliver words clearly and display sensitivity to metrical accents; even in

melismas, “a detached performance of runs had priority over a ‘legato’ style” (ibid:

13). The modern conception of cantabile began to develop later in the 18th-century; it

should not be confused with Bach’s ideal of a singing style (ibid: 15).

An examination of Herreweghe’s statements and practices alike, however,

suggests that he has made the very identification which Butt warns against. By Butt’s

description, Gustav Leonhardt’s approach to articulation would count as a singing

style. As I noted (p. 98 above), Leonhardt often creates an illusion of legato without

avoiding the requisite clarity. Even in his earlier recordings, Herreweghe takes this

further: he applies detached articulation more gently and less frequently, and employs

fewer and softer metric accentuations. His sonority is also softer: he forgoes

Leonhardt’s male-only vocal forces for a mixed choir and female soprani, and

encourages a gentler sonority from his orchestra. However, the choir’s phrasing is

detailed enough, and its sound cohesive enough, to allow textural clarity.

In Herreweghe’s earlier recordings, rounded sonority and articulation are allied

with a generally restrained approach. While eschewing static or terraced dynamics,

Herreweghe employs a narrow dynamic range, spanning short phrases. His tempi are

also moderate. There are no sudden transitions in any parameter. This meshes well

with Herreweghe’s non-interventionist philosophy and his ideal of vocal lyricism; it is

rather harder to reconcile with his +/+ approach towards rhetoric-as-semantics.

This it not to say that his performances are completely uneventful. By subtle

inflection of parameters, he allows some sections – presumably those he analyses as

Confutatio – to acquire a tenser character (see p. 111 above). This effect can be noted,

for example, in the opening movement of his 1984 Matthäus-Passion: he slightly

intensifies (through sharper articulation and softer dynamics) the question-and-

answer dialogues between the two choruses; thus, the area of higher tension includes

both Propositio and Confutatio, in terms of his 1985 analysis.

In his 1998 recording, he comes closer to realising the performative implications

of his analysis, performing the Confutatio with distinctly sharper accentuation and

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harsher articulation. The performance on the whole, although smoother in articulation,

is more dramatic, thanks to the wider range, and more purposeful inflection, of the

dynamics.22

The differences between these two recordings are consistent with Herreweghe’s

general development in recent years, confirming his own account of his changing

priorities. His articulation has mostly become smoother, his sonorities richer, his

phrases longer. This last aspect relates especially to dynamics: his dynamic range has

increased, and he shapes phrases in a more distinctly directional manner. The range of

articulation has also increased: accents are harsher and more frequent, and stand out

more strongly against the generally softer articulation and sound.

4.3.3. Herreweghe’s recordings of the Mass

Herreweghe’s two commercial recordings of the Mass are only separated by six

years. In several measurable senses, they are not very different. The ensemble size is

similar; tempi are often close, with deviations in both directions. There are, however,

clear differences between them, mostly consistent with the general developments

described above.

The 1988 version sounds relaxed and uninflected, even when compared to

recordings from the same period (the 1984 Matthäus-Passion, cantatas BWV 78 and

198). In a favourable review, Nicholas Anderson (1989) describes it as moderate and

well-balanced, and praises it for bringing out “the supreme contemplative element in

the music”. John Butt, in his more negative assessment (1999a: 194), points out the

disparity between the “largely uninflected singing” on this recording and

Herreweghe’s rhetorical ambitions. Both writers suggest a sense of performative

passivity, of “letting the music speak for itself”; Anderson uses the word “safe”.

This might remind readers of my description of Mauersberger’s performance (p.

64 above); but Herreweghe achieves clarity without resorting to Mauersberger’s

constant note-separation, and allows notes to coalesce into phrases. The sonority is

rounder and softer. A better comparison might be with Rifkin’s performance ( 5.2.1,

pp. 137ff below) – notwithstanding the latter’s employment of soloistic vocal forces.

22 Other conductors, however, come even closer to realising Herreweghe’s verbal analysis in sound, notable examples being Gardiner (see Golomb 1998) and Harnoncourt 2000.

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Herreweghe’s notes refer both to the Mass’s stylistic heterogeneity – likening it

to a 20th-century work which juxtaposes “post-romantic, serial and neo-classical

styles” – and to Bach’s “deep desire for unification”, which led him to shape the work

into “a monolithic whole transcending stylistic particularities” (1989). The latter

element is predominant in his performance, which makes little effort to highlight the

contrasts he so vividly describes in his notes.

The second performance reveals a much more active approach, with closer

attention to detail. The basic articulation is even smoother than before, the sonority

even darker; but the dynamic range is wider, and deviations from the basic

articulation more notable. However, if Herreweghe indeed follows his own advice,

allowing the interpretation to emerge from the interaction between players, one should

be especially careful in attributing all differences to changes in his aesthetic outlook.

According to Stephan Leys, the Intendant of the Collegium Vocale (personal

communication), there were important differences between the two performances. The

1988 sessions were preceded by only one concert, the 1996 sessions by a tour of five

concerts. For an interpretation supposedly evolving from the co-operation between

members of an ensemble of freelancers, this difference could be decisive.

The same applies to changes in orchestral and choral personnel. While some key

members are common to both performances (e.g., flautist Patrick Beuckels, oboist

Marcel Ponseele, cellist Ageet Zweistra), others have changed – including the leader

(François Fernandez, Sirkka Liisa Kaakinen), the organist (Willem Jansen, Herman

Stinders), and the trumpet players.

Even when the same people are present, they might well have evolved as much

as Herreweghe has in the same period of time. Herreweghe himself (1999b; 2001: 47)

claims that his instrumentalists now display superior technique and a firmer grasp of

Baroque playing style, and that this has allowed him and his fellow-musicians to

concentrate on interpretive issues.

The two performances were also recorded by different recording teams, in

different buildings, though Herreweghe was involved in the recording and editing

process in both cases. According to Leys, there was some retrospective dissatisfaction

with the choice of venue for the 1996 recording, so perhaps its more reverberant,

bass-heavy sound does not entirely reflect the conductor’s wishes.

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Judging by the results, the later performance seems to place a greater premium

on drama, the earlier one on beauty of sonority. The different conceptions of beauty

can be demonstrated through the treatment of the trumpet choruses. In 1988 (CD 1: 5-

6), they never sound harsh or strident; in their soft dynamics and rounded sonority, the

trumpets are reminiscent of cornetti. They rarely dominate the texture; instead, they

sound “on a par” with other obbligato instruments – a clearly audible effect when they

play together, or in close conjunction, with the oboes (e.g., Et in terra, bars 60-62).

The same effect appears in 1996 (CD 1: 7-8), but not as consistently as in 1988.

There is a stark contrast, for example, between the two renditions of the Gloria. The

tempi are virtually identical, but the 1996 reading sounds more energetic: articulation

is more incisive, trumpets and drums are more prominent and more sharply etched,

and choral dynamics are shaped with a greater sense of purpose (although textural

clarity is superior in the 1988 version).

In the Et in terra, these differences are even more pronounced. The 1996

reading is noticeably faster than in 1988 (although also more continuous with the

Gloria) and more actively shaped. Neither reading attempts an overall shaping of the

movement – for example, by making a clear distinction in character between the two

fugal expositions, or attempting to link them through a crescendo in bars 40-46

(compare with Jeffrey Thomas, p. 155f below). The 1996 reading, however, features

more local crescendi and diminuendi, especially on the fugal subject, as well a

continuous build-up towards the end of the movement (bars 65-76). The trumpets,

which through most of the 1996 Et in terra are almost as ethereal as their 1988

counterparts, emerge at the end of this crescendo with a fanfare-like, strident sound.

The two readings of the Sanctus are similarly contrasted. The 1988 reading (CD

1: 23) is flowing and peaceful, with soft sonority from all concerned and no staccati.

There is some local directionality – but it usually carried by one voice (or one group

of parallel lines) at a time. The transition to pleni sunt coeli is smooth, and that section

has a similar character.

The 1996 reading (CD 1: 24) projects a greater sense of momentum. The tempo

is faster; the trumpets sharper, and there are several crescendi leading towards their

entry (e.g., bars 9-11, 17-19, 39-40 and simile). In imitative passages (e.g., bars 25-27,

30-35), Herreweghe shapes each voice (or group of parallel voices) with its own local

directional pattern, emphasising the presence of several independently-progressing,

non-coordinated lines. Since the dynamic range is narrow and there are no sharp

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accents, the lines do not clash; but there is a clear sense of dialogue. The contrast

between Sanctus and pleni sunt coeli is also more notable in the later reading; the

latter (as well as the following Osanna) is sharply etched, by Herreweghe’s standards.

Similar tendencies can be noted in the solo items. There is not a single soloist

common to both recordings, so the different personalities involved could well have

affected the results. Nonetheless, in each performance the differences between the

soloists’ approaches resemble the differences in Herreweghe’s shaping of the

orchestral parts, and can be sensed from the orchestral ritornelli (which, however,

might have been influenced, especially in 1996, by the players’ familiarity with the

singers’ interpretation).

The differences can be vividly illustrated through a comparison of the two alto

arias, sung by Charles Brett in 1988 and by Andreas Scholl in 1996. In the Agnus dei,

there is an unusually large tempo gap between the two performances. The articulation

is largely similar in both cases; but the dynamic range is wider in 1996, with constant

manipulation creating a more purposeful, directional impression in the later reading

despite its slower tempo.

In this case, the difference can be attributed to the different singers: Herreweghe

shapes the ritornelli more actively in 1996, but in both performances the orchestra’s

dynamic range is narrower in the vocal passages, receding into the background (more

notably in 1996 than in 1988) and leaving the singer almost solely responsible for

shaping his sections. Here, the contrast between Brett and Scholl is greater than the

contrast between their respective accompanists. Scholl’s two most dramatic moves – a

frustrated build-up towards bar 31 (the expectation for a peak at 31 replaced by a gap

and a subito piano, followed by a further diminuendo), and a crescendo towards an

actual dynamic peak at bars 40-41 – take place against a relatively neutral orchestral

background. Herreweghe’s most distinct dynamic arch, on the other hand, is on the

final ritornello – which by then feels almost like a response to Scholl.

In the Qui sedes, however, the orchestra is at least as active as the singer. The

tempi are closer, but the sense of momentum is much more palpable in the later

reading. In both readings, Herreweghe follows the NBA articulation, and accentuates

the strings’ staccato downbeats. His dynamic range in 1988 (CD 1: 21) is extremely

narrow; he seems to take no heed of the piano/pianissimo distinction in his score. The

only notable tempo modification is at the notated adagio in bars 73-74.

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In 1996 (CD 1: 22), the same articulatory patterns are more powerfully

projected, with shorter staccati and a more intense sonority (and some dynamic swells

– e.g. on the syncopation in bar 3) making the contrast between staccato and legato

more palpable. The dynamic range, too, is wider, with small crescendi and diminuendi

highlighting individual motifs. There is a marked change of tempo at 68, and a further

ritardando, more marked than before, at the notated adagio. In the beginning of the

movement, the strings seem more active and varied than the two soloists (Scholl, and

the oboist Marcel Ponseele). This changes in bar 51, when Scholl introduces an echo

effect, and in the subsequent ritornello, where the oboe becomes more prominent; and

the change of pace, particularly in bars 73-74, seems dominated by Scholl – though

this might be inevitable (the vocal part contains the smallest rhythmic units, giving the

singer greater control over micro-timing).

The Qui sedes is something of an exception in Herreweghe’s performance, its

intermittently harsh articulation matched only in the Crucifixus (see p. 238 below). It

should be noted, however, that the 1988 recording contains no such exceptions. The

presence of isolated incisive movements in an otherwise rounder performance

complements that performance’s wider dynamic range and more purposeful approach.

4.4. Summary

Musical rhetoric was cultivated as a historically viable way of projecting

performative expression in Bach’s music. In its least contentious manifestation,

rhetoric-as-speech, it suggested that detailed articulation can replace or complement

dynamics in creating flexible, expressive performances. Rhetoric-as-semantics,

however, proved more controversial. The attempt to forge a performance style based

on a +/+ realisation of Affektenlehre theories is one of the most obvious examples of

Idea-Oriented HIP ideology; but arguably, the ideas it purports to revive are not

entirely historical.

This is another case where the “romantic” label is neither entirely accurate nor

wholly inappropriate. Both Harnoncourt and Herreweghe have come closer, as their

styles have evolved, to satisfying all three criteria for romanticism, at least in

comparison to their former selves.

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Harnoncourt is not entirely averse to the romantic label. His official biographer

speaks of his transformation from purist to romanticist (Mertl 1999: 130-131, 207-

208), suggesting that this process gradually revealed his true character. This transition

is vividly illustrated in the comparison between his two readings of the Mass. The

1986 recording, with its strongly projected gestures and clear adherence to +/+

ideology, clearly fulfils the second and third criteria for “romanticism”. Harnoncourt

is also accused sometimes of “anachronism”, both for his reliance on Affektenlehre

and for more “technical” reasons (e.g., the use of a mixed chorus, traditionally-trained

soloists and slow tempi).

On this latter front, however, Harnoncourt clearly realises his own aim – a

creative use of lessons derived from history. Many would perceive his frequent use of

legato as one of his most “romantic” features. In my view, however, Harnoncourt’s

use of legato is highly unorthodox. It is part of his general tendency to generate subtle

discomfort through techniques usually associated with comfortable luxuriance, and to

reveal potential conflicts and contradictions in what is often seen as the emblem of

Order in Bach – his polyphonic textures. Whether this represents a revolt against

romantic performance practices is a moot point; but it is certainly a revolt against the

ideals “classical” and “romantic” modernism alike. Harnoncourt promotes a distinctly

knife-edge-balance image of Bach’s music, thereby ascribing his “subversive”

tendencies to the composer himself.

Herreweghe’s development has not been as dramatic as Harnoncourt’s. In some

ways, he has become increasingly “rhetorical”, drawing more attention to inner

tensions, to contrasts between and within movements. However, he retains his ideals

of vocal-led lyricism and interpretive restraint. His Bach image likewise stays within

the balance-as-equilibrium paradigm. He remains far removed from the strongly

disruptive, interventionist style of Harnoncourt.

Herreweghe observed that some listeners describe his newer style as “romantic”

(2001: 47); even his earlier recordings have sometimes been described as achieving a

middle ground between “romantic” and “modern/HIP” approaches (see quotes in

Sherman 1997: 280, 292-293). The impression of romanticism is strengthened by the

fact that, in seeking to inject more vitality and drama into his style, Herreweghe often

abandons techniques inspired by rhetoric-as-speech in favour of expression-through-

dynamics and increasing use of legato. Herreweghe has also become a more

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interventionist conductor, at least in comparison to his earlier self. However, he still

avoids the strongly architectural-organic approach of “romanticists” like Jochum, or

“neo-romanticists” like Hengelbrock (see pp. 157ff below).

The romantic label is therefore problematic. Herreweghe’s development, so far,

consists of a modification of his style, not a radical transition like that evident in

Harnoncourt’s and Rilling’s recordings. His pursuit of more strongly projected

interpretations did not lead him to abandon his earlier ideals of beautiful sonority,

clear textures and rounded phrasing. The differences between him and his mentor

Leonhardt are already clear in the early recordings, but they become more pronounced

as his career proceeds. It is even more difficult than usual to place a line of

demarcation – the time span is relatively short, the changes subtle. Some of the

elements I noted here – e.g., rarer yet sharper accents – are also present in relatively

early recordings, e.g., BWV 82/1, recorded in 1991 (see Golomb 2001).

Both Harnoncourt and Herreweghe, however, reveal that certain types of HIP-

inspired styles have increased the range of performative-expressive options available

for Bach performance. Even Herreweghe, while seemingly reverting to “mainstream”

techniques, retains some features inspired by rhetoric-as-speech and uses them to

highlight expressive moments. In different ways, both directors realise a less

monumental, more “humanised” view of Bach. Herreweghe projects the music with

more immediately-appealing lyricism, removing the forbidding aspects of the Über-

persönlich image. Harnoncourt realises in sound the notion that the music does not

represent divine perfection, that its “special affect” arises “not so much from synthesis

but rather from creative solecisms and improprieties”, that its constituent elements are

sometimes “in conflict with one another” (Dreyfus 1997: 190-191).

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5. Bach as Musician: Joshua Rifkin, Andrew Parrott and Ton Koopman

The standard justification for so-called “mainstream” Bach performance can be

encapsulated in the following statements from Helmuth Rilling:

• The goal should not be to make us hear differently, but rather, to make us learn to understand better (Rilling 1985: 11)

• I attempt to make emotionally relevant and timely what I, through analysis and reflection, believe Bach wished to communicate (ibid: 15)

The latter point is also applicable to the views of the “rhetorical” performers.

Here I propose to discuss performers who represent a more material-oriented

(MO) approach to HIP. In terms of their background, the three musicians I grouped

for this chapter are quite disparate. However, they share a belief in the viability of

genuine historical verisimilitude in performance, and its essential value for

understanding the music – rejecting Rilling’s axiomatic distinction between “hearing”

and “understanding”. In their view, “analysis and reflection”, unsupported by a

systematic engagement with the composer’s sound-world, is inadequate for

understanding the music’s message. They also share a similar image of Bach and his

music, focusing on the Musician, rather than the Theologian or the Rhetorician.

5.1. Premises

The American pianist, conductor and musicologist Joshua Rifkin seems an ideal

candidate for illustrating Richard Taruskin’s “authenticism-as-modernism”

hypothesis: a former student of Karlheinz Stockhausen in Darmstadt, who turned to

HIP Baroque performance after being disillusioned with the avant-garde school (Butt

2002a: 183, 239n; Hitron 2002). As conductor, he covers a varied repertoire, from the

Renaissance to the 20th century.1

Andrew Parrott covers a similarly wide repertoire, though his discography

primarily represents his work on Renaissance and Baroque vocal music. He can be

considered as part of the British HIP tradition, alongside choral conductors like Harry

1 As a pianist, Rifkin is most renowned for his performances of ragtime piano music. Whether this bolsters the authenticist-as-modernist image is a moot point.

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Christophers and John Eliot Gardiner. Parrott’s scholarly convictions, however, have

led him to employ soloistic rather than choral forces in many of his performances.

If Rifkin seems an ideal illustration for Taruskin’s thesis, Ton Koopman

represents almost the opposite extreme: a musician who, in his words, “always

composed in 17th or 18th century style”, gave up composition studies because his

teachers tried to force him into avant-garde styles which never interested him, and

now engages his compositional faculties in Baroque composition and improvisation

(e.g., in reconstructing Bach’s lost or incomplete compositions; Koopman 2003: 48).

He studied harpsichord and organ with Gustav Leonhardt, and collaborated with him

and with several of his students and colleagues. It might therefore have seemed more

appropriate, at first glance, to place him in the previous chapter. However, as will be

noted below, his attitude towards musical rhetoric is quite sceptical.

5.1.1. Bach image: Against the Fifth Evangelist

Central to Rifkin’s, Parrott’s and Koopman’s MO-approach is the notion that

Bach himself was primarily a musician.2 Their Bach image is reminiscent of the view

suggested in Friedrich Blume’s “Outlines of a New Picture of Bach” (1963),3 and

developed by subsequent writers like Hans Heinrich Eggebrecht (2001: 76-96, 179-

193 and passim), John Butt (1997b, 1997c; see esp. 1997b: 52), and others.

These scholars stress the essential commonality of Bach’s musical style: where

earlier writers downplayed the importance of Bach’s secular and instrumental music,

they consider them as central to Bach’s oeuvre as his church compositions. They

reject the idea that Bach depended on religious inspiration for his most profound

musical creations, and that erudite theology was a key element in his compositional

process, and should thus be the starting point for modern-day interpretations.

All three musicians discussed in this chapter affirm that Bach took his texts – be

they sacred or secular – seriously, and sought to convey their message to his audience

(cf. Rifkin 1987, 1989a, 1989b, 1991; Koopman 1997a, 2003: 46; Parrott, quoted on

2 Blume (1963: 216) seeks to restore Forkel’s image of Bach as “[a]bove all, and first and foremost, [...] a musician”. Compare with Robin Leaver’s statements that “Bach cannot simply be dismissed as a mere musician without theological competence” (2000: 32), and that “to suggest that [Bach] was only a musician and ‘not a theologian’ is [...] seriously misleading” (ibid: 33). See also Leaver and Marissen in Watkins 2000. 3 Blume (1963: 214) mentions “one isolated attempt at a fundamental revision of the prevailing picture of Bach” prior to his own; this is probably a reference to Knepler 1951.

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p. 126 below; see also Butt 1998). However, their emphasis is on Bach’s application

of comprehensible word-painting, and on his intensification of the texts’ emotional

and expressive impact. Issues related to “symbols of ideas” – such as number

symbolism, Figurenlehre codification of abstract ideas, or erudite theology – are

either dismissed as irrelevant or ignored.

They also do not deny Bach’s private religious convictions, or the institutional

and ceremonial context for which his church music was written. Indeed, Rifkin and

Parrott reveal a keen interest in how Bach’s music functioned within Lutheran liturgy:

this plays an important part in their arguments in support of the OVPP [One-Voice-

Per-Part] hypothesis. Their emphasis, however, is on the impact of liturgical

considerations on Bach’s performance practice.

This debate has direct implications for the interpretation of specific works, in

theory and in practice alike. As noted earlier, (p. 53 above), writers and performers

committed to the Bach-as-Lutheran image tend to downplay secular influences in

Bach’s music. Koopman (2003: 43-44) claims such a “puritan”, “fundamentalist”

approach is musically damaging, causing performers to show undue restraint and

uniformity in the application of articulation, dynamics and ornamentation. It is also

wrong-headed: it posits a separation of “sacred” and “secular” idioms which is foreign

to Bach’s musical culture. Bach’s own style remained essentially the same, whether

he was writing for a church or a coffee-house. His use of dance- or opera-inspired

idioms in his church music did not contradict his commitment – as a “normal

believer” – to the church, and was hardly unusual at the time.

Koopman’s design for his cantata cycle reflects his beliefs: his was the first

complete cycle to include the secular cantatas. Rifkin’s and Parrott’s relatively small

discographies focus primarily on sacred music.4 Their stance is, nonetheless, similar

to Koopman’s, and this is reflected in their performance style. Whereas the

“Lutheran” image has often been associated with the “sublime-mechanical” style, the

performances of Koopman, Parrott and Rifkin could sound (at least to some critics) as

confirmation of HIP’s avoidance of the profound and sublime (Taruskin 1995: 167).

These conductors generally prefer lighter textures, faster tempi, and incisive

articulation (the latter being more true of Parrott and Koopman than of Rifkin). On the 4 Of the secular cantatas, Rifkin only recorded three solo soprano works (BWV 202, 209, 210); Parrott recorded BWV 202, as well the Trauer-Ode, BWV 198. The latter work is included in all cycles of sacred cantatas; Koopman, however, featured it on one of the volumes dedicated to the secular cantatas.

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other hand, they avoid the detailed, fluctuating articulation associated with rhetorical

performance.

This is linked to their view that Bach was a musician seeking to convey his

message directly to a non-expert audience, not an erudite theologian or rhetorician

writing in arcane codes for fellow-scholars. His musical message can therefore come

across without resorting to detailed theoretical exegeses, or to a performance style that

drives the points home forcefully or pedantically. The only requirements are a subtly

underlined, sonically-authentic performance style from the musicians, and an open-

minded, attentive approach from the listeners.

5.1.2. Performer’s image: The Material-Oriented approach

In the context of early music, the meaning of the word ‘authenticity’ is clear: the performance of music on period instruments, using rules of performance practice from the same period, according to the ideas developed at that time as skilfully and as accurately as possible – stepping into the shoes of someone from that period. (Koopman 1987: 2)

5.1.2.1. The performer’s role

In the beginning of chapter 4, I noted the common construal of HIP as a

Material-Oriented performance ideology, focusing on philology, instrumentation and

technique to the exclusion of semantics and affect. This assumption is evident not

only in critiques of HIP (e.g., Dipert 1980: 206-207; Temperley 1984: 18; Rosen

1990: 46; Kivy 1995), but also in defences of it. Stephen Davies, for example, cites

Koopman’s statement above as a clear-cut definition of “authenticity”, using it as a

counter-argument to claims about the term’s ambiguity (2001: 207n, 241-242). Where

Dipert (1980) criticised HIP for focusing on sound to the exclusion of experience or

effect, Davies (2001: 231-233) responds that the listener’s experience is indeed

irrelevant to defining and achieving authentic performance.5

Such analyses are not so much mistaken as incomplete: while they purport to

discuss HIP ideology tout court, they actually respond only to a particular set of HIP

ideologies. Even an MO-approach does not inevitably entail an appeal to means to the

exclusion of ends. It is interesting to contrast Taruskin’s “content is a function of

form” (see p. 84 above) with Peter Walls’s statement (2002: 31) that “getting as near

5 For a critique of the empirical validity of Dipert’s analysis, see Butt 2002a: 87-89

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as we can – literally – to the intended sound world of works from the past is part and

parcel of engaging with their essence”. In other words, music’s content and effect can

be revealed – at least in part – through the examination of form and sound.

MO-ideology, then, does not necessarily deny the importance of understanding

the music’s meaning, or achieving its intended effect. Rather, it argues that expressive

ends cannot be revealed through analysis or hermeneutics alone, without reference to

performative means (see also Walls 2002: 32).

If the reconstruction of original practices is essential for an understanding of the

music’s meaning, then it should be achieved with as few compromises as possible.

MO-HIP musicians usually belong to what Bernard Sherman, in his classification of

HIP ideologies (1997: 391-393), called “Type One” artists, who “adhere firmly to the

ideal of trying to play music as it was played in its own time”. Conversely, IO-HIP

musicians are more willing to posit a separation between sound and content, and

consider the latter paramount. Therefore, they can often be found among Sherman’s

Type Two musicians, who “flout history openly when they prefer something else”.6

Obviously, the distinction between the “technical” and the “aesthetic” is not

hard-and-fast.7 IO-ideology, however, focuses on issues that might not have

immediate performative implications; it extrapolates performance directives from

them, or uses them as the prism through which to examine performance-related

material. MO-methodology starts from performance-relevant material, and works

outwards from there. To the extent that it examines general aesthetic issues, it does so

through the prism of the practicalities of performance.

The difference can be clarified by examining the reactions of Rifkin, Parrott and

Koopman to rhetoric-as-semantics. Rifkin has always been sceptical of this theory and

its implications (see p. 138 below). While conceding that performers should be aware

of gestural elements in the music, he insists that they should not make a conscious

effort to project them in performance (in Sherman 1997: 386-388).

6 Sherman’s Type Three performers, who question Werktreue on historical grounds, are less relevant to this particular project (see pp. 24f above). For further discussion of Sherman’s categories, see Butt 2002a: 47-48. 7 For example, Leonhardt’s rhetoric-as-speech approach focuses on issues of performance practice (especially articulation); it seems arbitrary to describe it definitively as IO rather than MO. His own lecture on the Matthäus-Passion (Leonhardt 1999) focuses on MO considerations; when considering broader aesthetic issues, he does not seek their performative implications.

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Koopman (2003: 44-45) and Parrott express similar views. While finding it

useful to point out rhetorical devices to fellow-musicians, Parrott does not extrapolate

explicit performance directives from them:

When singers already have a good understanding of the underlying intention of a musical phrase, or if I am able to help them towards such an understanding by drawing attention to ideas that inform a particular compositional choice, performance is almost inevitably affected. I don’t necessarily know how this understanding might manifest itself, nor is there any simple prescription for translating it into practice. To take a very simple example, it might be sufficient merely to point out that a phrase rises (or falls) to match a textual ascent to heaven (or descent to earth). If an idea of this sort then becomes clearer in a singer’s mind, its delivery is likely to become a little clearer, more apparent, too. This, in turn, helps the listener – consciously or subconsciously – to perceive both textual and musical meaning. (Parrott, in interview with the author, February 2002)

Here, my formal matrix for expression/performance relationships is severely

tested. Rifkin, Parrott and Koopman reject +/- philosophy, which discourages

performers from drawing attention to what the music is doing. Their own version of

x/x is, however, quite restrained. Rifkin, in particular, is ambivalent about the very

concept of interpretation (see p. 138 below).

These performers’ attitude towards rhetoric-as-semantics, then, ranges from the

sceptical to the derisive. They are much more positive about the prospects for gaining

insight into the music’s expressive devices by engaging directly with technical issues.

Koopman, for example, claims that his attempt to find the correct pitch settings

for Bach’s early cantatas (Koopman 1996: 610; 1997) resulted in a new understanding

of Bach’s aesthetic development. He claims that woodwind parts in early cantatas,

often thought to have been composed in “closed” keys to create a strained sonority,

were actually written in more comfortable, “open” keys.

In later works, Bach [...] started to use the sound of closed keys as an expressive – you could perhaps say “rhetorical” – device. [...] if you hear a sense of strain and suffering in the sound of the oboes, that’s how it is meant to sound. But in the early works this element was not in his mind yet. He just composed the most beautiful music, full of sadness. (Koopman, in interview with the author, December 2002; cf. Kivy 1995: 52)

Koopman stresses that his aim was to solve practical problems of performance

practice; his conclusions on Bach’s aesthetic development were a by-product of this

process. Nonetheless, he could not have made these discoveries had he not taken the

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trouble “to use the instruments appropriate for the work, and examine the original

sources” (ibid).

5.1.2.2. The listener’s role

Arguments like those described above assume that performers could rely on “a

consistency of listenership, that an ideal human subject will somehow respond

identically [or at least similarly] to the same sensual stimuli regardless of age, period

or social background” (Butt 2002a: 54; see also Sherman 1997: 88-95; Burstyn 1997:

693-695; Leech-Wilkinson 2002: 209-214).

Peter Kivy (1995: 48-53, 197-199) claims such views suffer from a fatal

weakness. They conflate “sonic authenticity” (reconstructing historical sonorities)

with “sensible authenticity” (recreating the perceived effect of those sonorities upon

contemporaneous listeners). In Kivy’s view, the two are not necessarily co-extensive;

and “sensible authenticity” is neither feasible nor desirable (ibid: 244-248).

MO-musicians claim, however, that modern listeners can learn to appreciate

certain aspects of the original audience’s experience, and this can enrich and deepen

their understanding of the music. An approximation of “sonic authenticity” is

essential for achieving this type of “historical listening”. Kivy counters that Bach’s

own contemporaries listened a-historically, adding provocatively that the best way to

recapture their a-historical experience is by listening to “mainstream” performers,

whose tendency to treat all music in the same style reflects the way most people

listened to music before the advent of historical performances (ibid: 70).8

The performers I discuss here have no problem admitting that historical

listening is, to some extent, a new phenomenon; this, however, does not diminish its

value for present-day listeners (see also ibid: 71-77). For Parrott, historical listening is

essential for a serious engagement with Bach’s music today: Some might say: “We live in the 21st century and in a secular society – what does this text about guilt, judgement and divine love have to do with our own experience? If we are to perform this music, we must above all ensure that it appeals to today’s audiences. Its liturgical roots no longer have any real relevance and the work deserves better than to be ‘bound’ to the circumstances of its time, to the ‘inadequate’ performing forces and conventions which gave

8 This claim is not self-evidently true. Bach’s cantatas, for example, were originally performed alongside older music; members of Bach’s congregation might have recognised his references to older traditions (Lutheran chorales, stile antico) more easily than modern listeners could. Parrott (2000: 21-25, 32-33, 132-133, 143-144) points out that the older and newer repertoires would not have been performed by the same forces, implying some degree of stylistic difference.

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birth to it. So let’s liberate it, make it accessible to larger audiences, in large halls and with familiar, large forces. Let’s emphasise the music’s grandeur, excitement and sheer sonic beauty – but preferably not its text, lest we alienate or discomfort anyone (especially in our multi-cultural society) with the outmoded, irrelevant and often unpalatable ideas it may contain”.

If we are open and honest about this approach, there can be no real objection. But I do not subscribe to the view that we get any closer to Bach’s music through mere acceptance of current conventions. Taking the easy route usually just confirms what we already know about ourselves.

I absolutely reject – as a self-fulfilling prophecy – the idea that ‘modern ears’ (whose?) necessarily listen in a single, fixed way that differs fundamentally from that of our 18th-century forbears (Bach himself? or his least sophisticated parishioner?). No two people listen identically, and each of us can in any case learn to listen in different ways – which is just what I aspire to encourage both listeners and performers to do. Rather than protecting ourselves from a ‘difficult’ text, we may instead begin to grasp its possible meanings, resonances and associations – which in turn will illuminate our appreciation of its musical setting. Similarly, by opening ourselves up to new (old) styles of playing and singing, to unfamiliar tunings, pitch-levels, tempi, articulations, forces, sonorities, embellishment and so on, we may discover hidden musical worlds that can speak to us every bit as directly as more recent ones. We may still not end up listening ‘as Bach’s congregation did’ (whatever that may mean) but – through a little effort on our part – we may perhaps acquire at least a little of the general understanding that Bach could have expected from his listeners. (Parrott, in interview with the author, February 2002)

Historical listening therefore demands an imaginative effort, alertness and a

refusal to take received wisdom for granted. Koopman (2003: 49-50) speaks

expansively about the possibility of helping the audience by other means of

communication, such as articles, video documentaries (e.g., Koopman 1997a) and pre-

concert talks. He finds this possibility more appropriate than fitting the performance

itself to modern prejudices.

In a sense, these musicians share with Rilling the notion of a single listenership.

But, whereas Rilling’s starting-point is an existing modern listener whom the

performer should accommodate, the MO-HIP view posits an ideal listenership that

should be striven for. The modern listener is seen as flexible and open enough to be

guided in the right direction.

5.1.2.3. The ideal of perpetual revolution

If Type One, MO-HIP musicians are suspicious of the audience’s “laziness”,

they are even harsher when they perceive a similarly “complacent, over-cautious or

unimaginative” attitude among fellow-musicians (Parrott, in Sherman 1997: 392).

Thus, Koopman laments younger colleagues’ “dangerous” tendency to rely on their

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predecessors’ and teachers’ discoveries, instead of doing their own research and

correcting their teachers’ mistakes, if necessary (2003: 48). Rifkin treats the opposite

phenomenon – established musicians getting stuck in ruts – in even starker terms:

If Early Music has any meaning, then its meaning is perpetual revolution. In this post-modern era, we are tired of perpetual revolution; the last century gave us enough examples of where revolution gets you, and this makes us more sceptical. Nevertheless, this is one of the things that really has to be the motor of the exercise if the exercise is to have any meaning. (Rifkin, in interview with the author, November 2002)

This strong stance is consistent with the high stakes all three attribute to

performance practice (see also Parrott, in Sherman 1997: 391-392): if the

reconstruction of historical practices is essential for gaining insight into the music’s

nature, ontology and meaning, then a constant quest for historical truth is

indispensable. This shared belief is also at the heart of the recent debate between

Koopman on the one hand and Rifkin and Parrott on the other, on the constitution of

Bach’s vocal forces.

5.1.3. The Bach Choir debate: Some comments

5.1.3.1. A brief historical survey

The issue of the size and constitution of Bach’s vocal forces has been debated at

least since the publication of “Die Besetzung Bachscher Chöre” (Schering 1920),

though the alternation between concertists and ripienists in some of Bach’s cantatas

was already noted by the Bachgesellschaft editor Wilhelm Rust (Stauffer 1997b: 214).

Schering pointed to the commonplace 17th- and 18th- century division between

“concertists” (who took part in choruses and solo numbers alike) and “ripienists”

(who doubled the concertists in choruses). On the basis of an examination of Bach’s

vocal parts, he concluded that Bach’s concertists performed some choral passages on

their own. His research was continued in the 1950s and 1960s by the conductor and

scholar Wilhelm Ehmann, who might have been the first to demonstrate this theory in

practice, in his recordings of several Bach cantatas. Although he made no recording of

the Mass, he focused on it in his main article on the subject (Ehmann 1961), which

Robert Shaw drew on in his second and third recordings of the work.

Schering (1920: 77-78) and Ehmann advocated an alternation between soloists

and chorus within a movement; Ehmann also believed that some choruses could be

sung by soloists throughout. No scholar or performer at the time, however, suggested

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that entire works might have been performed by concertists alone. Even Ehmann’s

ideas were ignored by the HIP movement,9 which continued to promote the chamber

choir as the ideal medium for Bach’s concerted vocal music. Ehmann’s and Shaw’s

recordings did, however, affect Rifkin’s own views on these matters: In my early teens, when I first heard the sound of the lightly scored sections with single voices, I said: this is just so much more beautiful [cf. Rifkin 2002: 40]. And from then on I missed that sound in choral performances. At the same time, there was a larger question that anyone conducting Bach’s choral music had to grapple with: what is choral and what is solo? [...] there are many movements and passages where nobody was ever sure whether something should be sung by a chorus or by a single voice: solo chorales, trios, quartet sections, and so forth. [...] I needed to solve these difficult questions for my own performances [...] I knew Schering’s and Ehmann’s theses could not quite be defended, but I also knew that there was a kernel of truth there. [...] I experimented with this kind of combination pretty early on, having passages sung by soloists and so forth, because intuitively I felt it sounded so much better. (Rifkin, in interview with the author, November 2002)

Parrott conducted similar experiments in the 1970s; in his 1977 live performance of

the Mass, he implemented many of Ehmann’s scoring suggestions.

Rifkin was the first scholar to argue that Bach’s vocal forces often consisted of

un-doubled concertists. In his view, concertists were the only indispensable

component in a 17th- and 18th-century chorus. He re-iterated Schering’s and Ehmann’s

observation that ripienists usually joined only in specific passages, not entire

movements. This, however, made it difficult to accept another of their key

assumptions: that ripienists could read from concertists’ parts (which contained no

indications to ripienists when to join in). Instead, ripienists had to read from separate

parts. Since Bach rarely wrote ripieno parts, or supplied instructions on how to

prepare them, Rifkin concluded that he rarely used ripienists.

Rifkin first presented his findings at the annual meeting of the American

Musicological Society (Boston, 1981; eventually published as Rifkin 2000). He was

initially greeted with scepticism and hostility (see his own description in Baumgartner

2002: 46), though Andrew Parrott was convinced by his thesis at an early stage. The

9 One possible explanation for the neglect of Ehmann’s ideas is that he did not use period instruments, and consequently was seen as an outsider to the movement. Another is that his suggestions ran counter to a prevailing tendency towards literalism (see also Rifkin 2002: 39, quoted on p. 23 above). Nikolaus Harnoncourt (1968) claims to have taken Ehmann’s recommendations to heart in his B minor Mass, but he missed (or wilfully ignored) Ehmann’s crucial point – that ripienists could be dispensed with entirely in some contexts.

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controversy still continues. Although I have not studied enough of the original sources

to form a definitive opinion, I am increasingly convinced by the solidity of Rifkin’s

case. My readings suggest that most published “refutations” (e.g., Marshall 1983;

Stauffer 1993, 1995; Smithers 1997; Wolff 1985: 26-27, 1998b, 1999c; Koopman

1998) missed several key points in Rifkin’s and Parrott’s arguments (see especially

Parrott 2000: 143), while repeatedly refuting claims they never made.

In the 1980s, Parrott and Rifkin were virtually the only musicians actively

engaged in one-per-part renditions of Bach’s vocal music. They always enjoyed some

favourable reception (Rifkin’s Mass won a 1982 Gramophone award); in an interview

with the author (November 2002), Rifkin said that he encountered more opposition

among Early Music performers and aficionados than among non-specialist listeners.

A gradual change began in the 1990s. Jeffrey Thomas’s American Bach Soloists

and the Ricercar Consort used soloistic forces in Bach’s Mühlhausen and Weimar

cantatas, while retaining a standard chamber choir in Leipzig works (see also p. 153

below). Other musicians began applying OVPP forces more consistently;10 these

include Konrad Junghänel (Cantus Cölln),11 Paul McCreesh (Gabrieli Consort) and

Sigiswald Kuijken (La Petite Bande).12 The Canadian record label ATMA recently

announced a new cycle of the complete cantatas, to be performed by Montreal

Baroque under the direction of Eric Milnes, which would adopt OVPP scoring.

Other performers acknowledge the validity of Rifkin’s historical argument, yet

continue to employ standard forces.13 John Butt (1998: 100; 1999a: 191) attributes

this development to the emergence of a flexible approach (Sherman’s Type Two)

among HIP-musicians and scholars. Rifkin and Parrott themselves, however, adhere

to a stricter, “Type One” ethics, as does Koopman. For all three, a choral performance

10 Several ensembles (for example, the Purcell Quartet, the Aradia ensemble and Cantus Cölln) went further than Rifkin’s evidence suggested, applying one-per-part scoring to instruments as well. 11 Junghänel and his ensemble recently issued a recording of the Mass; although I have heard this recording (and reviewed it for a forthcoming issue of Goldberg), it arrived too late for me to give it to the consideration it deserves. See, however, p. 136n below. 12 The Mexican company Urtext Records has recently issued a one-CD selection from a live concert performance of the Mass by La Petite Bande under Kuijken’s direction (catalogue number 68510050). The vocal ensemble in this performance apparently consisted of eight concertists (for more details, see http://www.bach-cantatas.com/Vocal/BWV232-Kuijken.htm). Unfortunately, I have not been able to consult this recording. 13 One notable example is Roger Norrington (in program notes to his 2000 and 2002 performances of the B minor Mass). Herreweghe’s position is ambivalent (compare his statements in Sherman 1997: 283; Herreweghe 2001: 48; Baumgartner 2002: 47).

http://www.bach-cantatas.com/Vocal/BWV232-Kuijken.htm

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of Bach’s vocal music can only be called “historically informed” if Rifkin’s thesis is

wrong. Koopman is virtually the only musician who produced a detailed argument

supporting the chamber choir as a historically appropriate medium for Bach’s music.

The three musicians’ dispute therefore demonstrates that they are divided by a

common ideology. Many scholars and performers are still strongly committed, both to

Type One MO-ideology and to the standard chamber choir. Their hostility towards

Rifkin’s thesis – which says that they cannot have both – is hardly surprising (see also

Walls 2003: 46-47).

5.1.3.2. Bach’s intention

Both Rifkin and Parrott insist that their main reason for adopting the “single

concertists and (at most) single ripienists” model is that this is what Bach had in mind.

Their writings consist almost entirely of historical arguments. Parrott explicitly stated

that he would revert to the standard choral performance if “serious scholarship”

persuaded him that his and Rifkin’s theses are wrong (1998: 649); Rifkin (in an

interview with the author, November 2002) even implied that, if OVPP were proved

historically wrong, he might stop performing Bach altogether. Koopman, for his part,

seeks to persuade his readers that Bach both wanted and obtained the kind of forces he

(Koopman) uses.

Some scholars and musicians accept (or tacitly acknowledge) Rifkin’s

conclusions about Bach’s practices, but argue that Bach only used such small forces

reluctantly (Gardiner, in M. Oliver 1989: 642; Brüggen, in S. Johnson 1990: 1452;

Taruskin 1995: 45). Parrott and Rifkin, however, claim that there is no real evidence

for the alleged disparity between Bach’s ideals and his practices on this matter. Rifkin

even proposes circumstantial evidence suggesting that Bach might sometimes have

had more musicians than he cared for (Rifkin 1996: 594, 2002: 30-38; Parrott 2000:

101-115; cf. Gardiner 1989: 31; Koopman 1998: 118; Wolff 1998b: 540).14

It should be noted that all three performers claim to be realising their own ideal

as well as Bach’s. Koopman speaks of “a minimum under which I do not want to

14 Part of the debate focuses on whether Bach could call upon musicians from outside the church (primarily university students) to perform his music, and what function they would have served. For a recent examination of this question – which explicitly raises more questions than answers – see Martin Geck 2003.

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work” (1996: 614; see also Parrott 1997: 299); Rifkin and Parrott provide aesthetic as

well as historical arguments to support their position.

5.1.3.3. Greatness, monumentality and the congregational element

If the concept of musical greatness is employed to characterize, not merely to celebrate, then two ideas are connected with it: the idea of monumentality and the idea of difficulty, of not immediate accessibility. Pairing of these aspects is precarious: an incomparable example of success in doing so is the opening chorus of Bach’s St Matthew Passion (Dahlhaus 1982: 90)

This distinctly “sublime” view of musical greatness probably accounts for much

of the hostility towards chamber-scale performances of Bach’s music (Parrott 2000:

143). It unwittingly implies that “great chamber music” is a contradiction in terms, a

sacrifice many will not be willing to make (cf. Dahlhaus 1989: 17). Parrott’s likening

of Bach’s concerted music to string quartets (2000: 147-148) is designed to drive this

point home: reducing the music’s physical scale does not necessarily render it

lightweight.

Chamber music, however, is “private”, whereas Bach’s church music is often

perceived as essentially congregational:15 even if it was performed without

congregational participation, it still transcends individualism through its choral

sonority.16 This has been cited as an argument against OVPP (Herreweghe, in

Sherman 1997: 283; cf. Van Tassel 2000: 36).

According to Rifkin and Parrott, this is not what Bach had in mind; his music

embodies the interplay of individuals, not the joint power of anonymous masses (Butt,

in Boyd 1999: 99; Parrott 2000: 151; Rifkin 2002: 34, 40-41; McCreesh 2002). This

position does not deny that Bach’s music served a public role, but it precludes any

15 For some formulations of this stance, see the 1909 Dessau declaration of the “deutschen evangelischen Kirchengesangvereinstag” (cited in Hiemke 2000: 69); Köberle 1936: 16; Besch 1938: 257, 262-263; Schrade 1955: 36-37. 16 This partly accounts for the common tendency to perform chorale melodies – even when allocated to just one voice – with full sections. Herreweghe’s and Koopman’s practices in this regard resemble Richter’s and Rilling’s (among others), though the tendency to treat chorale melodies with particular rigidity is more specific to Richter (cf. p. 61 above).

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notion that it was intended for public participation, or was even meant to symbolise

it.17

Another version of the “congregational” approach is promoted by amateur

choral societies, who played an important role in the 19th-century Bach Renaissance.

Rifkin’s and Parrott’s case relies partly on Bach’s insistence that only the best singers

are suitable for his music. The obvious implication – “that these great works should

never be sung by amateurs” (A. Oliver 2000) – could be perceived as a challenge to

the choral society tradition.

However, Rifkin (in interview with the author, November 2002) says that he has

found more openness to his ideas among “conductors of old-fashioned choirs” than

among early music experts. He himself has more respect for this tradition than for the

standard “HIP” approach – not least because choral societies harbour no pretences to

realise Bach’s wishes and practices. He has even partaken in this tradition himself,

conducting the Elgar-Atkins version of the St. Matthew Passion at the 1996 Three

Choirs Festival (Rifkin 2002: 40).

5.1.3.4. Bach’s place in history

Rifkin’s version of the Mass is sometimes referred as “The B minor Madrigal”.

This appellation is usually meant to carry pejorative associations; but it reminds us

that there are repertoires where one-per-part performances are now accepted as the

norm. This has not always been the case (as indicated by the very existence of

“madrigal choirs”); and other repertoires (e.g., Renaissance church music, Purcell

Odes) are performed at present by choirs and soloistic consorts alike.

Most of the musicians who adopted OVPP scoring also specialise in

Renaissance and early Baroque repertoire. This partly explains the relative ease with

which they adopted Bach’s chamber-scale scoring. However, it also suggests another

reason for the general hostility towards OVPP.

Bach’s cantatas emerged from the 17th-century German Sacred Concerti, which

combined the Lutheran chorale melodies with expressive means derived from the

Italian madrigal (Dürr 2000: 19-21; Konrad Küster, in Boyd 1999: 82-83). The

17 Within the original church services, Bach’s cantatas were clearly separated from communal singing. The point is vividly illustrated in Paul McCreesh’s album Epiphany Mass (see discography for this chapter), which employs large congregation choirs for the communal sections, and a consort of single concertists and single ripienists for Bach’s music.

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connection is more immediately audible when madrigals, concerti and cantatas are

performed with similar forces. The choral approach places Bach’s vocal music in a

familiar environment, alongside the Classical and Romantic choral music. OVPP

places Bach in a more “antiquated” environment, in a medium (chamber vocal music)

which is otherwise a rarity in the standard repertoire (see, however, p. 130 above).

5.1.3.5. Expressiveness

Another argument against OVPP is that it renders the music inexpressive. This

argument is based on the problematic yet common assumption that small-scale,

intimate forces are ill-suited for dramatic and expressive intensity. But there also

exists an opposite view: that reduced scoring enhances intensity. The “B minor

Madrigal” label could hint at this: the seconda pratica madrigal is associated with

detailed, intense expressiveness. A soloistic approach to Bach’s music could also

emphasise its links with opera – a point which, interestingly, is rarely raised on either

side of the OVPP debate.

The Sacred Concerti, which led to Bach’s cantatas, were themselves influenced

by Seconda pratica madrigals. Schering noted this link, but insisted on applying a +/-

performance ethics for the German genre (see pp. 53f above). The choir’s massed

voices could be seen as a means of placing madrigalesque individualism under

control. Ehmann arrived at an almost opposite conclusion from a similar standpoint.

He argued that madrigalesque movements like the Qui tollis and Crucifixus should be

performed by concertists only; their expressiveness and individuality is jeopardised by

the full-bodied sound of massed ripienists (1961: 40-41).

More recent supporters of OVPP have made similar arguments. Eric Van

Tassel, for instance, writes about one of Jeffrey Thomas’s OVPP performances:

At the opening words [of BWV 12/2] ‘Weeping, lamenting, grief, anguish’, the concertists are free not merely to sing but to act out each emotion. Such word-painting hits home here, but would seem affected or absurd in the hands of a larger chorus. (Van Tassel 2000: 33-34)

Thomas himself would probably disagree, as his choral performance of the

Crucifixus – which consists of virtually the same music – testifies (see pp. 238ff

below). Rifkin, on the other hand, avoids such gestures in his recordings of BWV 12/2

and Crucifixus alike (see p. 232 below).

Individualised freedom of expression could be the hallmark of OVPP; this is

arguably what happened when performances of Renaissance madrigals, especially

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Monteverdi’s, moved from “madrigal choirs” to OVPP ensembles (cf. Leech-

Wilkinson 1984: 16n, and pp. 148f below). Rifkin and Parrott refer to these

possibilities, but their emphasis is less on Intensity and more on flexibility (cf. Rifkin

2002: 40-41, and quotations on pp. 132 above and 139 below). This is related to their

philosophy of performative expression, as described on p. 125 above.

This philosophy contrasts quite markedly with Jeffrey Thomas’s more emphatic

+/+ approach (see p. 153 below). Like other latter-day exponents of OVPP, he reveals

a tendency towards “madrigalism” which is not typical of either Parrott or Rifkin. A

comparison of four OVPP versions of the Actus Tragicus, BWV 106 (see discography

for this chapter) clearly reveals Rifkin as the most careful and reserved; Konrad

Junghänel’s Cantus Cölln version stands at the other extreme (see also Butt 1999a:

190-191). Similarly, Parrott’s account of Christ lag in Todesbanden (BWV 4) is more

restrained than Junghänel’s or Thomas’s. A comparison between Parrott and

McCreesh in the Magnificat and Oster-Oratorium, however, yields less consistent

results, depending on the specific movements examined. I defer direct comparison

between Rifkin and Parrott to my discussion of their respective Masses below.

5.1.3.6. Summary

Discussion of the broader significance of Bach’s original scoring is still in its

early stages (Parrott 1997; 2000: 149-150; Butt 1998: 99-100; Rifkin 2002: 40-41);

the energy devoted to debating the facts of the matter detracts attention from serious

engagement with interpretations. However, this might change in the near future. More

ensembles now perform Bach’s vocal music with OVPP forces; consequently,

Rifkin’s findings are being realised in a variety of different styles. This makes it

possible to separate the “general” effects of OVPP scoring from the styles and

interpretations of specific ensembles and directors.

In their own performances, Rifkin and Parrott demonstrate several possible

consequences of their theory:

1. Smaller forces make it easier to achieve clarity without resorting to

aspiration or strong emphases on inner lines. This allows easier realisation

of their modest version of +/+ (pp. 125ff above), though such an

achievement is not impossible with larger forces (cf. Parrott 2000: 138).

2. The smaller forces almost make nonsense of the strict hierarchy between

parts of the ensemble, as exemplified by Karl Richter (p. 60ff above).

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Transitions from soloists to fuller ensemble emerge, not as “terraced”

jumps, but as gradual, nuanced and continuous. Parrott, who employs

ripienists more often than Rifkin, shades their entries as subtle transitions,

rather than bold, emphatic gestures (see also pp. 186f below).

Other performers, however, demonstrate the dramatic, “madrigalesque”

potential in the use of smaller forces.18 Both approaches stand against a more

traditional, monumental conception of Bach’s music; they both reflect, in different

ways, a more humanised Bach image. It is thus no coincidence that both Parrott and

Rifkin draw on an image of Bach as a practical musician, and reject an overly

theological or rhetorical reading of his approach. However, as the case of Koopman

demonstrates, accepting this image of Bach does not, in itself, lead into an adoption of

OVPP forces.

I should add that, although I find the historical and musical arguments for OVPP

thoroughly convincing, I am less convinced by the arguments against standard choral

performances. For Parrott, performances of Bach’s vocal music which employ

ripienists throughout are akin to orchestral performances of string quartets (2000: 148-

149), or to “a veritable hippogriff in which a plausibly Bachian orchestral body is

grafted to an alien, perhaps Handelian, vocal group” (ibid: 142). However, Bach

himself scored the Johannes-Passion with ripienists throughout, and the audible

results (as heard on Parrott’s recording) are virtually indistinguishable from the

sounds produced by a chamber choir.

By using strong terms like “alien” and “hippogriff”, Parrott treats scoring and

sonority as essential, non-negotiable tenets. It is doubtful if this reflects the attitude of

18th-century composers; as Rifkin readily concedes, Bach probably “took his

performance practices more or less as he found them but tried always to realize their

maximum potential” (2002: 39; cf. M. Geck 2003). It is not unreasonable to speculate

that he would have treated the chamber choir similarly. Perhaps he would have re-

arranged his music before allowing choral forces to perform it; but for him, there were

18 Konrad Junghänel’s recent recording of the Mass comes closest to realising this potential for the B minor Mass. Like Parrott, Junghänel makes selective use of ripienists, but reserves several choruses for concertists only. In several of the latter, the singers’ independent shaping of their individual lines (also characteristic of their madrigal performances) helps create a palpable sense of dialogue; the most notable examples are the Qui tollis and Crucifixus. See also p. 149n below.

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no sharp dividing lines between “preparing a new performance of the same piece”,

“arranging” and “re-composing”. The need to distinguish clearly between “original”

and “arrangement” reflects more modern concerns, and might therefore constitute an

anachronistic feature of Type One, MO-HIP ideology (cf. Walls 2003: 44-50).

5.2. The recordings of the B minor Mass

Each of the conductors under discussion here has only made one commercial

recording of the B minor Mass; this limits the possibilities of investigating their

development within this piece. I did have access to Parrott’s 1977 live performance,

presenting his interpretation with standard choral forces, as well as to a 1997

performance by Rifkin; in both cases the differences were not radical (except for the

difference in scoring between Parrott’s readings).

5.2.1. Rifkin’s recording

Rifkin’s Mass, recorded in 1981-1982, is closely associated with the first

presentation of his findings; it has often been viewed as a “demonstration recording”.

In an interview with the author (November 2002), Rifkin insisted that this was not his

primary motivation. He did, however, acknowledge that the choice of the Mass as the

first piece to be performed one-per-part was not coincidental. He wanted to prove that

chamber-scale scoring is “applicable to large-scale works, not just small cantatas”;

and he felt obliged to choose a Latin work since he did not have, at the time, a roster

of singers with reliable German pronunciation.

In the notes to his recording, Rifkin takes care not to treat vocal scoring as the

single most important feature in the performance. He dedicates the opening section to

the Mass’s compositional history and to the question of its completeness. In the

section dedicated to performance, he presents “the make-up of the performing forces”

as the second of two unusual factors, alongside “the edition of the music” (1982a).

Questions of scoring are thus treated as an important issue, but do not occupy the

spotlight. There is a deliberate sense of de-sensationalising what was bound to

become the most publicly discussed aspect of the performance.

The essay as a whole resembles Rifkin’s scholarly articles in its detailed,

circumspect style. The performance section focuses on the evidence for Bach’s

practices and its practical implications. Rifkin deliberately avoids discussion of

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factors like “analytic intuition” and “musical taste”, which obviously affected his

interpretation, but are “less readily susceptible to verification”: the core of a performance lies in the deeply subjective encounter between musician and music. About this encounter, it makes little sense to talk; if its fruits are to prove at all hardy, they must do so in the air of aural actuality, not on the printed page. (Rifkin 1982a)

Similarly, Rifkin’s discussion of individual movements focuses on philological

issues. There are very few references to the music’s structure, meaning, expressive

ambience or aesthetic qualities.19

Rifkin’s performance style is similarly careful: he avoids strong, openly

interventionist gestures. The 1982 notes, while making no references to rhetoric-as-

semantics, contain an explicit critique of rhetorical phrasing and articulation. In

Rifkin’s view, inconsistencies in Bach’s articulation markings indicate that the

composer “imagined the superficially diverse patterns as sounding more or less alike”

(compare with Harnoncourt’s view, pp. 94f above). Similarly, he argues that the

absence of articulation markings in some cases might reflect “a wish to leave a note or

a group of notes plain”. In general, he believes that Bach did not expect “the kind of

phrasing, common in Baroque performances today, that so pointedly separates every

slurred group from its neighbors” (1982a)

Rifkin’s position is based on a systematic exploration of the sources. However,

it also reflects his sceptical attitude towards interpretation. In a recent interview, he

acknowledges that modern listeners, hearing a work for the hundredth time, might

“need interpretation”, whereas early audiences, hearing the same work’s world

premiere, might have settled for “a competent run-through” (in Sherman 1997: 380;

cf. Philip 2004: 10-12). However, when I asked him how this affects his

performances, he responded by positing the notion of an idealized run-through: “Interpretation” [...] demands a greater scrupulousness in the shaping of balances, phrasing, rhythmic projection, and so forth [...] Seen from this vantage-point, you can have an interpretation that does not differ superficially from many a run-through – in other words, does not engage in very noticeable modifications of tempo, does not go to extremes of accent or inflection, and so forth. For myself, I often try to achieve what might be called an “idealized run-through” – accepting, in other words, that Bach probably conceived of, or at least expected, something reasonably “straight”, but seeking to realize this on the highest possible level of execution and thoughtfulness. It’s a sort of tightrope act: I want the music to feel natural, almost improvised, creating itself, so to speak. (Joshua Rifkin, personal communication, August 2002)

19 Rifkin is less reticent in the notes to his recordings of Bach’s cantatas (1987, 1989a, 1989b, 1991).

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Although this statement post-dates Rifkin’s Mass by about twenty years, it

probably reflects his aesthetics at the time. His arguments for understated phrasing

suggest as much; so does his performance style, which closely fits the description

above (with the possible exception of the reference to improvisation – as becomes

clear in comparing his performances with Koopman’s).

The avoidance of sharply detailed articulation is also related to Rifkin’s

distinctly vocal ideal (most clearly articulated in Hitron 2000). His views on this issue

are remarkably similar to Herreweghe’s (see p. 110 above): both artists believe that

HIP’s starting point ought to have been the voice, rather than the harpsichord; and

both agree on the need to foster a more vocal style without losing textural clarity.

This resemblance is also reflected in their performance styles (see also Butt

1999a: 190). Both directors prefer legato articulation, with subtle caesuras between

phrases, to strong accentuations. Their dynamic range is narrow (albeit with some

degree of local directionality);20 their tempi are usually moderate; and they avoid

strong contrasts in all parameters. The latter tendency is most evident in potentially

dramatic transitions (Gloria-Et in terra; Crucifixus-Resurrexit; the two settings of et

expecto; Sanctus-pleni).

This restraint is consistent with Rifkin’s general outlook. For him, enhanced

flexibility and fluency are among the main advantages of OVPP scoring. Instead of

dividing large-scale works into categorically different segments (choral and solo),

“the music goes through a very interesting series of nuanced stages”; solo and tutti

sections flow into one another, creating “a richer palette of sonorities, of weights, of

expressive gestures” (in interview with the author, November 2002). This stands in

direct contrast to the hierarchical, terraced conception of artists like Karl Richter.

Despite this, Rifkin’s stated aim – “not to highlight the voices but to nestle them

among the instruments” (quoted in Van Tassel 2000: 33) – is only partly realised in

his Mass (it is more evident in several of his cantata recordings, e.g., BWV 140/1,

BWV 147/1). Even the recording balance – which he approved at the time – favours

the voices (though instruments are usually audible); and the light orchestral textures

further weigh the balance in favour of the vocal component.21

20 However, Herreweghe’s range – even in earlier recordings – is normally wider than Rifkin’s. 21 I am referring especially to Rifkin’s use of a single cello and violone, the latter only present from the Credo onwards. For the philological reasoning behind this scoring, see Rifkin 1982a.

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More importantly, his singers shape their parts with more detail than his

instrumentalists, drawing more attention even when the balance is near-equal.22 There

is, especially in less densely scored movements (e.g., Second Kyrie, Qui tollis,

Incarnatus, Crucifixus) and passages (e.g., the first fugal exposition in the Et in terra),

a sense of dialogue between the singers, with especially individualised contributions

from the alto (Jeffrey Dooley) and tenor (Frank Hoffmeister).23 Transitions from

imitative-polyphonic to homophonic passages register with particular clarity in such

movements. There are fewer instances of similar interplay within the orchestra, or

between singers and players.24

In summing up the controversy over the Mass’s unity, Rifkin suggests that

recording might be an ideal medium for side-stepping the debate. The recording

“leaves the ultimate disposition of its content open”; The decision of whether the four parts of the B-minor Mass should stand alone or together lies with the individual listener – whose path through the music thus becomes as private as the music itself. (1982a)

Thus, Rifkin leaves the final interpretation of the evidence to the listener. A similar

philosophy seems to inform the entire production – from the liner notes (which

provide much information and little interpretation) to the performance itself, which

seeks to present the music clearly and fluently, but with as little intervention as

possible.

This approach, coupled with the predominantly vocal sonority, arguably makes

Bach’s music sound more like Renaissance, prima pratica church music (or at least

modern conceptions and performances thereof) than like seconda pratica madrigals or

Lutheran Sacred Concerti. This potential association (which certainly affects my own

experience; see also Sherman 1999) is undoubtedly more “sacred” than “secular”; but

it is also far removed from the imposing, Überpersönlich sound image inspired by the

Bach-as-Lutheran approach. 22 There are exceptions, however; for example, Christopher Krueger’s shaping of the flute obbligato in the Domine deus is more detailed than the singers’ (Judith Nelson and Frank Hoffmeister). 23 In the 1997 Regensburg performance, many of the most distinct contributions come from the bass, Michael Schopper. 24 These tendencies are even more pronounced in the Regensburg concert, where the voices seem more individualised and less “blended”. This might be related to the fact that this was a live concert. There is, however, a similar effect in Rifkin’s 1995/1996 recording of Weimar cantatas, which features four of the five Regensburg concertists.

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5.2.2. Parrott’s recording

Andrew Parrott recorded the Mass in 1984. In an interview with Christopher

Cook (for BBC Radio 3’s Bach Year series), he says that he initially planned to use

the Taverner Choir, as he had done in previous live performances (see p. 129 above).

However, as he became convinced by Rifkin’s arguments, he decided to re-shape his

performance accordingly. He consulted directly with Rifkin (who allowed him to use

his edition), and with Hugh Keyte, his erstwhile musicological advisor.

Parrott’s forces still differ from Rifkin’s on three issues:

1. Ensemble size: Rifkin uses ripienists only when they are explicitly called

for in the manuscript sources (i.e., in the Dona nobis); Parrott makes

selective use of ripienists in several choruses.25 As far as I could tell, only

the Second Kyrie, Gratias, and Dona nobis are doubled throughout, but

many other movements featured selective doubling. Parrott also employs a

larger string section.

2. Continuo scoring: Keyte (1985: 11) enumerates two deviations from a

strict adherence to the parts (in the Missa) or the score (in the rest): adding

bassoons throughout, despite their being specified only in the Missa parts;

and using a double-bass throughout, despite its absence from the parts.

3. Vocal scoring: Rifkin is convinced that Bach used counter-tenors in

Leipzig; Parrott is convinced that he did not. Having disqualified Rifkin’s

solution, Parrott decided to use boy altos as his concertists, and a mezzo-

soprano for the ripieno.

The first two decisions resulted in a richer, more solid and cohesive sonority

than Rifkin’s. The cohesion was partly undermined by the third decision: the boy altos

– especially Panito Iconomou – have a distinct timbre which dominates part of the

texture. Parrott did not retain this idea in his later recordings: in his Johannes-Passion,

he scored the alto for female concertists and boy ripienists; in subsequent Bach

recordings, he used female mezzo sopranos only.

25 Keyte (1985: 10) justified this by claiming that “the Mass gradually floated clear of practical restraints [...] so we are scarcely obliged to re-impose them”. I doubt if Parrott would feel comfortable with this rhetoric today. Rifkin describes Parrott’s recording as “an arrangement [...] openly acknowledged as such” (2000: 66n). Notwithstanding his own avoidance of such arrangements, he considers them a legitimate option – one that could actually “bring us closer to eighteenth-century practices than does the modern all-or-nothing use of the chorus” (ibid: 39).

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On the whole, however, Parrott’s forces project a firmer sonority (probably

affected by the recording as well). The voices form a more closely blended group

(even in passages scored for concertists only), and the orchestra is more dominant.

Parrott also projects a firmer rhythmic profile, with more solid underlining of metric

accentuation and more incisive articulation. His tempi are usually close to Rifkin’s;

when they differ, Parrott is usually faster (notable exceptions include the Sanctus, and

central triptych of the Symbolum Nicenum). Parrott’s rendition thus features few of the

attributes which led me to associate Rifkin’s version with Renaissance church music;

indeed, it is sharper than Parrott’s own performances of earlier repertoires.

Parrott is, generally speaking, the more “interventionist” of the two conductors

(notwithstanding their similar philosophies of interpretation). This tendency is,

however, revealed more consistently elsewhere in Parrott’s discography (e.g.,

Johannes-Passion, Oster-Oratorium) than in his Mass. In some movements (see p.

140 above), Rifkin’s performance is more nuanced and shaped, as he encourages (or

at least allows) greater freedom to his singers. In several orchestrally-dominated

movements, however, Parrott’s interpretation is more detailed: in Cum sancto spiritu,

Sanctus and Osanna, for example, Parrott reveals more local polyphonic detail, and

projects the movements with clearer directionality.

Parrott (2000: 151) cites the ease of achieving flexible phrasing as one of the

main advantages of employing a smaller vocal ensemble; again, the best illustrations

in Parrott’s own discography can arguably be found outside the Mass (most notably

his 1997 Trauer-Ode and funeral motets). Interestingly, several movements in the

Mass seem to acquire greater flexibility (i.e., an increasing range of dynamics and

articulation, with more local inflections within phrases) as the performance proceeds

(e.g., Et in terra, Laudamus, Incarnatus, Et in spiritum, second Osanna). It is not easy

to tell to what extent this reflects a deliberate interpretive decision, rather than the

dynamics of the recordings sessions.

These features also affect directionality in both performances. Rifkin and Parrott

alike believe that performers should be sensitive to patterns of tension and resolution,

underlining them without being too intrusive. In practice, Rifkin is rarely active in this

direction. His performance features local directionality in individual phrases, but he

does not seem to direct the ensemble with this goal in mind. Parrott projects these

patterns more firmly in later recordings, but his Mass already features several

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instances (the clearest being the build-up of tension in the fugal expositions of Cum

sancto spiritu, esp. bars 112ff).

The combination of clearer directionality and sharper articulation also makes

several movements in Parrott’s recording seem more distinctly light-hearted or dance-

like than Rifkin’s – notable examples being their readings of Christe eleison, Domine

deus (especially the respective shaping of the bass line) and Qui sedes (see also my

discussion of Parrott’s shaping of the First Kyrie’s subject, pp. 172f below). In this

sense, while Rifkin reveals some commonalities with Herreweghe, Parrott sometimes

approaches Koopman’s stylistic priorities.

5.2.3. Koopman’s recording

Koopman recorded the Mass in 1994. The arias and choruses were recorded

separately, as is Koopman’s usual habit; Koopman himself played the organ continuo

in the arias.26 His Amsterdam Baroque Orchestra had already been working with him

since 1979 (several of its members also performed Bach’s chamber music with

Koopman); the Amsterdam Baroque Choir, however, was only founded in 1992. The

notes were written by Christoph Wolff, who usually serves as Koopman’s

musicological adviser; it is therefore reasonable to assume that the recording is based

on Wolff’s edition. Koopman, however, retains the original version of the Et in unum,

contrary to Wolff’s recommendation.

Although his Bach image and performance philosophy resemble Rifkin’s and

Parrott’s, Koopman’s view of the performer’s role is more personalised. He uses the

first person more freely in his verbal discourse, with references to his own wishes and

his personal signature.27 He displays his own individuality especially vividly in his

attitude to improvisation. As a soloist, chamber-music and continuo player, Koopman

is known for his active ornamentation (see also Butt 1999a: 186). These tendencies

are also audible in his Mass: several arias (e.g., Christe eleison, Laudamus, Qui sedes,

26 This divisions of labour is not specified in the notes, but was confirmed in personal communication with Koopman’s secretary. 27 All three, however, maintain that the conductor/director is ultimately responsible for the interpretation, even allowing for a degree of individual freedom to members of the ensembles. Parrott and Rifkin also make a point of refuting the common view that the conductor is an anachronism in Baroque music (Sherman 2003: 240).

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Agnus dei) contain passages where the right-hand improvisations are richer with semi-

melodic figurations than those of his colleagues on other recordings.28

Koopman also encourages other members of the orchestra to improvise on their

parts (see also Koopman 2003: 47). This is particularly evident in the Domine deus.

Koopman follows the Dresden parts in applying reverse-dotting,29 and encourages his

flautist, Wilbert Hazelzet, to add ornaments in the second ritornello and the ‘b’

section.30 The effect somewhat counterbalances the singers’ more insistent singing

(harsher and more detailed accentuation, louder dynamics): while they (and, in some

places, the strings) render this section more passionately, Hazelzet’s and Koopman’s

ornamentations (consisting mostly of short, lightly articulated trills or runs on

consonant notes) lighten the mood.

As I noted on p. 91 above, ornamentation was often viewed as an essential part

of musical rhetoric, and can be used to enhance expressiveness; this potential certainly

exists, for example, in the tenor’s D# in the First Kyrie, bar 35, and analogous

passages, where it can emphasise and intensify dissonant harmonies. Koopman’s

ornamentations, however, usually do not have this character. In the First Kyrie, his

choir produces fast, light trills, which do not emphasise the dissonant appoggiatura

note (CD 2: 37-38).31 They are usually associated with fast tempo, light articulation

and tone production, and an absence of accentuation, conveying something of a

Sprezzatura atmosphere (Taruskin 1995: 137).

Other features in Koopman’s style further undermine the impression of the

Mass as a monumental, public, massive and unified statement, suggesting instead a

28 On the other hand, they are rather recessed in terms of recording balance; some of them can be picked up only by listening closely, on headphones. This was probably done with Koopman’s consent: the producer was his wife, Tini Mathot, and the sound engineer was Adriaan Verstijnen, who has worked with Koopman and Mathot for over 20 years by the time the recording was made (see also Koopman 2003: 47). 29 The dotting is applied by flute and strings alike, as the parts imply; there is some hint of it in some vocal passages as well. The singers’ dotting is not, however, as insistent and literalistic as in Schreier 1991 and Rilling 1999. 30 The only other recording which features flute ornamentation in this movement is Diego Fasolis’s. The flautist there, Stefano Ret, accents the reverse-dotting more sharply, and introduces ornamentation at an earlier stage (bar 24). On the other hand, the improvisation is restricted to the flautist alone, the overall texture is richer (more sustained articulation from flutes and bass), and there is no hint of dotting in the singing. In Koopman’s version, Hazelzet’s improvisations appear more integrated into the character of the performance as a whole. 31 Compare with Panito Iconomou’s rendering of this ornament in Parrott’s performance (alto part, bar 36; CD 2: 17)

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light, intimate, individualised piece of chamber music. The sense of local freedom is

also displayed in the encouragement of local light-and-shade, with distinct phrase

division and frequent underlining of local directionality in specific parts (though there

are never clashes in direction between different simultaneous parts). This hardly ever

moves beyond the level of the individual phrase or section – Koopman does not build

up to overall climaxes (see also Elste 2000: 193). However, local directionality

contributes throughout to a sense of flow, and in specific cases (e.g., Gloria [CD 1: 9],

Osanna) to a palpable sense of dance.

The sense of lightness can be illustrated by comparing the Qui sedes in

Koopman’s recording with the same movement in Harnoncourt 1986 (see p. 105

above) and Herreweghe 1996 (see p. 116 above). Koopman’s tempo is faster and

more evenly flowing than either, with a less noticeable drop at the Adagio. Metric

accentuation is observed but not emphasised; staccati are lighter and the dynamic

range is narrower. While both Harnoncourt and Herreweghe occasionally convey the

sense of independence, even clashes, between strands in the texture, Koopman

conveys a more “homophonic” impression; the phrases move together, and agree with

the metre. Ornamentation does little to impede this impression.

It is interesting to speculate how this encouragement of soloistic playing would

have translated into the choruses, if Koopman had been convinced by Rifkin’s

arguments. There are many instances of (locally) directional choral phrases – the

shaping of the subject in the fugal expositions in the Et in terra [CD 1: 10], Cum

Sancto spiritu,32 Credo and Et resurrexit, and the clear dynamic waves in the Sanctus,

are notable examples. In general, however, choral parts are shaped with less detail.

The choir’s dynamic range is similar to the orchestra’s, but their spectrum of

articulation is narrower (mostly legato and gently-articulated non legato).33 In

Koopman’s few OVPP recordings (BWV 196, 150, 181 and 109), the concertists –

32 There, however, this effect is more clearly felt in the second fugal exposition (bars 80-111; see analysis in Stauffer 1997b: 93), where the choir is supported by orchestral doubling. The subject’s internal dynamic-articulatory structure is clearly articulated in choir and orchestra alike. The crescendo under sustained choral chords in bars 27-30 is projected almost entirely by the orchestra; however, in the equivalent passages in 76-79 and 113-116, the choir also makes a distinct contribution. 33 The choir’s soft, rounded sonority also contrasts at times with the orchestra’s sharper sound – though this is only occurs in specific passages, especially in the trumpet choruses.

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members of the Amsterdam Baroque Choir – do not differ markedly in articulation or

phrasing from the choir as a whole.

On the whole, Koopman’s interpretation is more “interventionist” than Parrott’s

or Rifkin’s. This is also clear in his choice of tempi: his range of speeds is wider, and

there are greater contrasts between movements. For example, the transitions from

Gloria to Et in terra (CD 1: 9-10), and from Credo to Patrem, which in Rifkin’s and

Parrott’s are almost the same pulse, are more distinct in Koopman’s version.

Compared to conductors who emerged from a similar Netherlandish-rhetorical

background (Herreweghe, Brüggen, Jacobs, and of course Leonhardt himself),

Koopman appears the most removed from rhetorical considerations (though these

tendencies are perhaps more notable in his Mass than in his Matthäus-Passion,

Markus-Passion and many of the cantatas). Given his propensity for local phrase-

shaping and improvisation, the term non-interventionist would be an exaggeration; but

all these conductors (with the possible exception of Herreweghe 1988) display a lesser

tendency towards actively de-intensifying movements, and greater attention to overall

structure and expressive gestures (see also my discussion of Brüggen’s performance

on p. 150 below).

5.3. Summary The three conductors discussed here share a similar vision, both of Bach, his

music and its meaning, and of their own role as performers. In both regards, they

place their perceptions of music’s inner working at the centre, marginalizing (though

not necessarily ignoring) considerations pertaining to the work’s extra-musical

significance (religious, rhetorical or otherwise). Where they do cite the music’s

expressive import, they emphasise its direct communicability, and deny or downplay

any notion of arcane signification. Their Bach image is within the balance-as-

equilibrium paradigm, but they deny the rigidity and austerity which is so often

attached to the Bach-as-Lutheran image. Rather, they perceive an inherent unity in his

style, a continuity and co-existence between “sacred” and “secular” elements, and

between lighter and more affective aspects. They observe little of the strain and

struggle that Herreweghe and (especially) Harnoncourt note in Bach’s music.

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This does not result in a single, uniform style – any more than Herreweghe’s

and Harnoncourt’s similar visions resulted in stylistic concordances. This is partly

because of their profound disagreement on the issue of vocal scoring, though other

factors might be equally significant. In particular, Rifkin’s suspicious attitude towards

interpretation, his preference for an “ideal run-through”, is not entirely shared by

either Koopman or Parrott.

All three musicians, however, adhere to a limited version of x/x: they seek to

understand the basic features of the music and gently underline them, not force the

listener’s attention to them. In this sense, too, they go against the image of Bach as

forbidding and inaccessible.

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6. “Neo-romantic” Performances

6.1. Introduction

Several writers have spoken of emerging romantic tendencies in HIP since the

1980s (e.g., Kenyon 1988b: 17; Dulak 1993: 51-61; Butt 1999a: 194-196). Partly in

response to such statements, Fabian and Schubert (2002) warned against “blanket use

of words such as neo-romantic”, stressing that striving for an expressive performance

is not an exclusively romantic tendency (see also p. 44 above). Nonetheless, I contend

that some performances can be usefully classified under this heading. In the Mass’s

discography, this trend is most clearly represented in the recordings by Jeffrey

Thomas and Thomas Hengelbrock, though there are pre-echoes in earlier recordings.

Harnoncourt’s brand of rhetorical performance is sometimes cited as the trend-

setter. Stauffer (1997a: 217, 1997b: 205) saw his 1986 Mass as heralding “the return

of a subjective element in performance practice”, allowing performers to “knowingly

– and unabashedly – seek a middle ground between Bach’s conventions and modern

tastes”. He thereby implies that “Bach’s conventions” militated against the “subjective

element”, the latter being introduced as a concession to “modern taste”.

Adherents of rhetoric-as-semantics (even, in some versions, rhetoric-as-speech)

might retort that “modern taste” is responsible for the removal of the subjective

element; its revival represents a return to “Bach’s conventions”. This approach has

certainly informed the increasingly expressive and extrovert approach to Renaissance

and Baroque music by ensembles like William Christie’s Les Arts Florissants, René

Jacobs’s Concerto Vocale, Paul Hillier’s The Hilliard Ensemble, and Reinhardt

Goebel’s Musica Antiqua Köln (see also pp. 134f above) in the late 1970s and 1980s.

Like Harnoncourt, these musicians were motivated, at least in part, by an attempt to

realise the performative implications of musical rhetoric in their various guises (cf.

Christie 1993: 263-264; Sherman 1997: 110-112, 258-265; Taruskin 1995: 319-320;

Voss 2003). The resulting performances introduced, increasingly, flexibility and

variety in tempo, dynamics, and timbre, and a strongly gestural approach,

emphasising moments of heightened expression. These performers were thus

promoting – in theory and practice alike – two of my criteria for “romanticism”

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(expression and individualised interpretation), while clearly rejecting any allegations

that the results were anachronistic.1

Taruskin, who shares this view, nonetheless cites Harnoncourt’s Bach

performances as a direct provocation against the standard, “geometric” approach, “not

unlike the challenge lately issued by the so-called neoromantics to modernist canons

of composition” (1995: 149). In my own view (p. 118 above), Harnoncourt’s

approach does bear some hallmarks of romanticism; his performances, and his

prestige as an HIP pioneer – further intensified by the success of musicians like those

mentioned above – probably inspired, and helped legitimise, an even more full-

fledged return to romantic interpretation.

Harnoncourt, however, is among the strongest advocates for the primacy of

articulation. In his usual avoidance – sometimes even obstruction – of long-range

shaping, and the concomitant concern with the projection of local motives and figures,

he remains opposed to the symphonic tradition (which, however, was in many

respects more “romantic-modernist” than “romantic”; see also p. 41 above).

For several of his admirers, detailed articulation remained Harnoncourt’s most

enduring contribution to Baroque performance style. For example, Erwin Ortner –

Harnoncourt’s chorus-master (see also p. 103 above), who recorded the Mass with an

orchestra consisting of Harnoncourt’s students, past and present – does not emulate

his mentor’s more “romantic” features. His tempi are usually faster than

Harnoncourt’s, his dynamic range narrower. He introduces fewer moment-to-moment

inflections, and avoids Harnoncourt’s bass-heavy textures. Although he adopts

Harnoncourt’s rich patterns of accentuation, he generally avoids sostenuto fragments.

Similar features characterise the two recordings by Peter Schreier, who also cites

Harnoncourt’s Klangrede ideals as a source of inspiration (Schreier 2001; and in

Lewinski 1992: 92-94).

One other notable example is Frans Brüggen, who happily accepted his labelling

as “as a kind of ‘romantic’ of the historical performance movement” (in S. Johnson

1990: 1453), and in the course of the same interview discusses the use of rubato in

1 In the B minor Mass’s discography, the most direct representative of this tradition is Konrad Junghänel (see p. 136n above), who collaborated with Christie, Goebel and Jacobs (among others). Junghänel’s own ensemble, Cantus Cölln (founded in 1987), specialises in Italian madrigals and in vocal music of the Italian and German Baroque.

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Bach’s choral music, his “organic” image of the Mass, and his concern for projecting

overall structures.

Brüggen’s 1989 Mass features more tempo modifications than most rivals,

“HIP” or “modern”. Of particular interest is his employment of “speeding up at points

of high tension” (Philip 1992: 35) – most conspicuously in the Et in terra, Cum sancto

spiritu and Et expecto; this feature is largely associated with pre-war performance

(ibid: 35, 234), and was neglected by many mainstream performers (perhaps because

it sounded too uncontrolled).2 More generally, he reveals – in theory and practice

alike – a concern for driving movements towards and away from peak points.

Other notable candidates for the “HIP-romantic” label include John Eliot

Gardiner and Richard Hickox. Gardiner is known, among other things, as an operatic

conductor, and frequently speaks of the music he performs – whether operatic or not –

in theatrical terms. Hickox’s reputation is not primarily as a Baroque expert or an HIP

figure. Both conductors initially performed Baroque music on modern instruments.

The most “romantic” features in Gardiner’s Mass are the wide dynamic range

and the sharp contrasts between movements. In several movements, Gardiner employs

dynamics to shape long-range patterns of tension and release. The most distinct

example is the Gratias (and, to an even greater degree, the Dona nobis pacem), which

is shaped as a single, long crescendo (and, in the Dona nobis, with mostly legato

articulation). Other movements, however, are internally rigid (e.g., Gloria, Resurrexit,

the Vivace setting of Et expecto)3 or almost uniformly brisk and cheerful (e.g.,

Christe, Laudamus, Domine deus, Et in unum). His shaping of the work as a whole

seems to rely, in part, on a distinction between harsher and more flexible movements.

Hickox’s Mass is characterised by greater flexibility throughout. Martin Elste

(2000: 192) characterised his style as combining historical and romantic elements. By

“romantic”, he refers primarily to Hickox’s combination of rounded, legato phrasing

and flexible, nuanced dynamics – a feature which also characterises Herreweghe (esp.

1996), Jacobs and Christophers. Another feature shared intermittently by these

conductors (with the possible exception of Herreweghe, esp. 1988) is their concern 2 Brüggen’s adoption of this feature might reflect the fact that his is a live recording. That too is a matter of ideology: Brüggen only records in live concerts, and presumably one of his aims is to preserve this kind of performative practice, which is likely to be inhibited in a studio context, or edited-out in the post-production stage. 3 The trumpets sound sharper and shriller here than in many of Gardiner’s later recordings, which might reflect a change in performance standards rather than a change in Gardiner’s aesthetics.

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with projecting movements’ overall structures; this might account, in part, for their

predominantly legato articulation. Hickox, however, demonstrates that incisive,

rhetoric-as-speech articulation and accentuation can facilitate the projection of a

movement’s shape (see pp. 193f below).

This can also be demonstrated with reference to several modern-instrument

recordings, most notably Rilling 1999 (see 3.2.3, pp. 76ff above) and Abbado. The

latter adopts several HIP features (fast tempi, small ensemble, light sonorities, incisive

articulation) even more fully than Rilling, yet often retains a “symphonic-romantic”

tendency, especially with regard to organic shaping.4 For all the differences in

biographical background (their own and their ensembles’) and instrumentation,

Hickox’s and Abbado’s Bach styles, as evidenced in their respective Masses, reflect

similar aesthetic concerns. In several cases, it is Abbado who maintains a stricter,

more solid dynamic profile (e.g., Cum Sancto, Resurrexit, Et expecto).

For all the “romantic” features of the above-named conductors and ensembles, I

refrain from placing them in my core-group under the “neo-romantic” heading. My

main reason is that, to my ears, they usually avoid or discourage strongly personalised

performance gestures. To use Taruskin’s terminology (1995: 316-317), they strive

towards the “Straight” rather than the “Crooked” end of the interpretive spectrum. It is

also debatable whether their more individualised gestures constitute anachronisms,

though such accusations are certainly raised.

The two performances that form the focal point of this chapter, on the other

hand, are unabashedly “Crooked” and, as I will note below, their respective directors

have openly marginalized the importance of historical information (and, therefore, are

not opposed, in principle, to willing anachronisms). They combine the above-

mentioned features (wide range of dynamics and tempo, frequent legato articulation

and long-range dynamic construction) with highly distinctive, idiosyncratic gestures,

willing to risk stylistic “inconsistency” across the work as a whole in pursuit of highly

specific interpretations of individual movements. The dynamic range is not

necessarily presented across long time scales, as gradual build-ups or waves; wide-

range crescendi and diminuendi can also occur within short time spans, as can abrupt

4 Seiji Ozawa also adopts many of the same HIP features. However, he retains lighter sonorities and a narrow dynamic range with much greater consistency than Abbado.

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dynamic changes. This is evident right from the start: Thomas and Hengelbrock are

the only conductors on record to shape the First Kyrie’s introduction (bars 1-4) as a

series of distinct dynamic arches (CD 2: 32, 42).

In other cases, there are constant alternations of dynamics and articulation – a

sense of an unremitting intervention in the shaping of each part, of leaving no note (or

at least no motif) uninflected. Other performances feature occasional movements

which closely approximate all three criteria for “romanticism”, but none do so as

consistently as Thomas and Hengelbrock.

6.2. Jeffrey Thomas

6.2.1. Premises

The tenor and conductor Jeffrey Thomas, a former member of Rifkin’s Bach

Ensemble, founded the American Bach Soloists (ABS) in 1988, to perform music

ranging from Schütz to Haydn and beyond. This group includes many artists who also

worked with Rifkin, but the style of the two ensembles is very different: as I noted on

p. 134 above, Thomas is much more willing to explore the dramatic potential of one-

per-part scoring than either Rifkin or Parrott. In addition to BWV 12/2, already

mentioned above, notable examples include the crescendo through the three

invocations of “Israel” opening BWV 131/5 and the distinct dynamic-agogic shaping

and articulatory contrasts in the Sinfonia BWV 18/1.

In terms of ideology, Thomas falls distinctly within Sherman’s Type Two

category, stating that “[u]ltimately, I’m not concerned about what Bach did, but about

the artistic results now” (in Sherman 1997: 280). This applies to Bach’s aesthetic-

affective aims, not merely to technical, performance-practice issues. Thomas believes

that Bach’s task was to “convey the Lutheran message” (ibid) to a congregation who

were meant to absorb it, not just to enjoy the music. Many present-day listeners,

however, do not share Bach’s beliefs; they are there for the music, and the musicians

should take this into account.

In aiming to move and startle modern audiences, Thomas approaches the ideals

of Rilling and Harnoncourt. He goes further towards the audience – certainly

compared to Rilling – in acknowledging and (in all probability) sharing their

preference for “the aesthetic/artistic element”. Thomas also places “the immediate

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content of the music” above liturgical-theological considerations (ibid: 279; cf.

Marshall 1989: 68; Kivy 1995: 245-247; Butt 2002a: 36-37); this contrasts with

Harnoncourt’s deliberate avoidance of clarity and immediacy (see p. 98 above).

The difference is reflected in the two conductors’ performances. Harnoncourt

and Thomas alike project strongly “gestural” interpretations. Harnoncourt’s gestures,

however, are less palpable and immediate, especially when he places several different

gestures simultaneously in different voices. Thomas, on the other hand, projects

clearer, more exposed gestures, usually placing them in several parts simultaneously

or highlighting one (set of) part(s). In his readings, different gestures seldom compete

with each other for the listener’s attention. This characterisation is strongly noticeable

in their recordings of the Mass. As I noted above (p. 103), Harnoncourt’s 1986 Mass

contains few sharp edges and immediately-arresting gestures. Thomas’s Mass, on the

other hand, is one of his most theatrical, flamboyant recordings.

John Butt (who played continuo in several of Thomas’s recordings, and co-

produced the 1992 Mass) relates Thomas’s pursuit of expression to a general revival

of “anachronistic”, consciously a-historical thinking: Thomas not only opts for the choral format but also aims for a much weightier, luxurious sound and approach. The slow tempo of the opening Kyrie has probably not been heard for a decade or two,5 and the highly evocative interpretation of the Crucifixus, nails and all [see pp. 239ff below] might recall the days when directors did not feel that they had to have the composer’s notated direction before embarking on a vivid interpretation of the text.

The split between Thomas’s approaches to the early cantatas [recorded OVPP] and to the Mass might also underline Bach’s odd status in contemporary culture, the fact that some works are unequivocally “mainstream” whereas others belong to the field of early music. The mainstream work thus receives the more “traditional,” expansive performance, whereas the esoteric pieces are performed in a more intimate, HIP-inspired manner. (Butt 1999a: 190-191)

If this analysis of Thomas’s reasoning is accurate, then his willingness to shape

performances according to a work’s reception history, rather than according to

historical considerations, constitutes a type of willing anachronism. In any case, the

split is one of degree rather than kind: Thomas’s OVPP recordings are often

reminiscent of the vivid renditions of Monteverdi madrigals by groups like William

Christie’s Les Arts Florissants or Rinaldo Alessandrini’s Concerto Italiano, and might

well have been inspired by their example (see also pp. 148f above). Nonetheless,

5 There is one exception to this observation – Harnoncourt 1986.

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Thomas’s application of these gestures with full choral forces has a strongly dramatic

effect, often moving well beyond what most other performers of Bach’s choral music

were willing to countenance.

6.2.2. Thomas’s Mass

Thomas’s pursuit of “weighty, luxurious sound” can be seen as part of a more

general recent phenomenon: The “vinegar” that record reviewers once found in “period” violin tone has turned to honey in the hands of the latest generation of players [...] Yet this new sound-quality is not just a retreat toward “mainstream” ideals, but a distinct new timbre, gentler than the “modern” string sound, more plaintive and more resonant, more suggestive of the physical gestures of performance. (Dulak 1993: 39)

This type of sonority is not unique to Thomas in the Mass’s discography (cf.

Harnoncourt 1986, Herreweghe 1996), but Thomas provides some of the most vivid

examples – e.g., in the Christe, Qui sedes and Domine deus. In the latter, the rich

string sonority is allied with a languorous shaping of the string parts in bars 7-10 and

simile (Münchinger treats this motif in a similar fashion).

Another element that, as Thomas notes (in Sherman 1997: 277), strikes some

listeners as anachronistic is the employment of longer phrases. This does not mean

that Thomas consistently produces long, smooth legati. To be sure, he is not averse to

such phrasing. But his recordings frequently feature incisive articulation, dividing his

phrases into small groups.

Whether this fully reflects Thomas’s aesthetics is not clear. He concedes that

“it’s hard for the players sometimes, right off the bat, to play a phrase as long as I’d

like” (ibid). This hints at tensions between Thomas’s desired phrases and his players’

habits, a suspicion partly corroborated by John Butt (personal communication), who

pointed out that Elizabeth Blumenstock (Thomas’s leader) often prefers sharper, more

detailed articulation than Thomas himself. The many instances of incisive articulation

might therefore reflect the orchestra’s priorities no less than Thomas’s own. The

results of this creative tension seem remarkably cohesive (at least to my own ears):

separate units meld into longer phrases, held together by long-range dynamic shaping.

A good example of this procedure is the ritornello of the Christe: Thomas and

his players clearly observe the pattern of slurs and dots indicated in the score,

breaking the ritornello’s violin melody into many separate units. But these units are

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incorporated within a single dynamic arch. In bars 7-9, the first note of each beat is

accented, and each consecutive accented note is slightly louder – thus turning these

notes into a single crescendo line. Similar techniques are employed in other

movements, creating phrases that are lively (thanks to their incision) and clearly

directional (thanks to the purposeful dynamics).

I noted similar features – resonant sonority, directional dynamics, legato

articulation – in Herreweghe 1996. There are several factors, however, that mark

Thomas’s performance as more strongly individualised. Thomas’s dynamic range is

wider than Herreweghe’s, and he employs directional “waves” more frequently.

Sonority and articulation, too, are more varied. Instances of sharper, harsher sound

and articulation stand out in Herreweghe’s performance against the more comfortable

background. In Thomas’s performance, there are frequent rapid alternations between

smooth and incisive articulation, making it difficult to establish one of them as the

“norm” – often even within an individual movement, and certainly for the

performance as a whole.

Internal contrasts within movements – sometimes gradual, sometimes abrupt –

are a significant feature in Thomas’s Mass, and are almost entirely missing in

Herreweghe’s. The difference is well-illustrated in comparing the two conductors’

approach to the Et in terra (CD 1: 8, 12). I noted, on p. 115 above, the projection of

local and mid-range directionality in Herreweghe’s 1996 reading, but also the absence

of overall build-up. Thomas’s musicians, on the other hand, mobilise all parameters to

insure a dramatic shaping of this movement, with special attention to the transition

between the first and second fugal expositions.

During the first exposition, choral articulation becomes increasingly incisive.

However, in the homophonic passage (bars 38-45), the articulation becomes more

expansive, the tempo slightly slower. Consequently, the entry of trumpets and

(especially) timpani is granted a special temporal emphasis. The subsequent speeding

up at the beginning of the second exposition is also rendered more noticeable. The

second exposition itself is placed “higher” than the first: faster, louder, more incisive.

However, a similar effect of retreat-and-enforce recurs towards the end of the

movement: the dynamics switch to piano as the oboes (bars 61/2) echo the trumpets

(bars 60/1), and the chorus takes its cue from the oboes. The tempo slows down on the

drum-roll crescendo (bars 65/6), remaining slower at the graded, sequential choral

crescendi in bars 67-70 (where the trumpets repeatedly “cut” the choral subject) –

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before returning to the second exposition’s basic tempo at bar 71, when the subject is

released from the trumpets’ “interruptions” and is allowed to flow again.

These stop-and-go effects are not a constant feature of Thomas’s Mass. While

he rarely shapes a movement with a single, uninterrupted trajectory, Thomas’s

shaping of rising and falling tension can be more gradual (e.g., First Kyrie, Gratias,

Cum Sancto, Et in unum, Agnus dei). Local climaxes, however, are usually enhanced

through distinct preparation, creating a series of internal contrasts within movements.

These effects are achieved through distinct inflections of tempo, dynamics and

articulation alike. It is difficult to imagine such a performance being achieved without

a conductor; evidently, Thomas does not believe that, “In Bach, if something is not

possible without a conductor, it’s a sign that it’s not a good interpretation” – a view

which, though articulated by Herreweghe (in Sherman 1997: 284), is certainly not

unique to him (cf. Dreyfus 1983: 317; Butt 2002a: 9-10).

Herreweghe and Thomas also differ strongly in their sonorities: Herreweghe’s

ensembles – especially his chorus – sound “homogeneous” and unified, whereas

Thomas’s choir sounds more like an ensemble of soloists with distinct timbres –

which, to some extent, it is (Thomas’s choir consists of “concertists” – who sing the

arias – and “ripienists”, who join them only in the chorus; though he does not use

concertists alone in any of the choruses). This difference might not be related to the

conductors’ ideals. Thomas does state, however, that he asks his orchestra “to play a

lot more soloistically” (in Sherman 1997: 277), and allows “the mechanical noises

made by the various wind instruments” (Thomas 1992) to remain audible in his

recording. It is possible, then, that he was not aiming for the kind of “blend” sought

and achieved by Herreweghe (see also Butt, in Sherman 1997: 287-288).

To the (admittedly limited) extent that he is willing to abandon ideals of blended

ensemble and audible perfection, Thomas is stepping back from ideals of technical

proficiency that have influenced the mainstream even before the emergence of HIP,

and which have actually increased in HIP itself (largely because they became more

easily achievable as the technical proficiency of players improved; see, however,

Sherman 1997: 393-395).

However, in re-adopting ideological and performative elements that bear the

hallmarks of “romanticism” – anachronism, performative freedom and paramount

expression – Thomas and the ABS are not retreating into an earlier style. The renewed

adoption of legato, long-range phrasing and dynamics, and tempo variations are

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coupled with a strong concern for articulation and metric accentuation as expressive

devices; the normally fast tempi – notable exceptions being the First Kyrie and Agnus

dei – also reflect Thomas’s HIP roots.

6.3. Thomas Hengelbrock

6.3.1. Premises

The conductor and violinist Thomas Hengelbrock, a former member of

Harnoncourt’s Concentus Musicus, was co-founder (with Gottfried von der Goltz) of

the Freiburger Barockorchester (1987). He later founded the Balthasar-Neumann-

Chor (1991) and the Balthasar-Neumann-Ensemble (1995). In his Mass, members of

the chorus also feature as soloists/concertists. While the Balthasar-Neumann-

Ensemble is now Hengelbrock’s permanent period instrument group, his Mass still

features the Freiburg orchestra.

Hengelbrock’s repertoire stretches from the early Baroque to the present. Opera

and modern music are both central to his repertoire. He served as artistic director of

the Deutsche Kammerphilharmonie Bremen (1995-1999) and music director of the

Vienna Volksoper (2000-2003). Bach is marginal to his discography, and his Mass is

partly related to his operatic activities: it originally served as the “sound-track” to a

dance-theatre performance which Hengelbrock co-directed with Achim Freyer at the

Schwetzingen Festival and the City of Bonn Opera House.

His approach to the Mass is unquestionably +/+; he particularly emphasises

text-music relationship. The opening paragraph of his liner notes seems to project an

unabashedly romantic approach – albeit mixed with scholarly awareness: Like a mighty mountain range we see this musical miracle before us, which later generations have named the “Mass in B minor”. How can we approach it, from which side are we to commence the ascent? The interpretations seem limitless, each summit reached opens up new, hitherto undreamed-of prospects, and the wonder at the towering genius that created all this knows no bounds. (Hengelbrock 1997)

This imagery is highly reminiscent of the introduction to an early 20th century

edition of the work: The Bach B minor Mass soars above like some huge, primitive mountain rock. Its summit is lost in the clouds, in an infinity of sunlit blue; lonely and sublime, it is unapproachable by any other music. (Volbach [n.d.]: I)

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The similarities are, admittedly, superficial. Volbach is committed to a strictly

religious image of “J. S. Bach, the greatest German mystic” (ibid). His imagery is

consistently sublime and super-human, depicting the Mass as a communication

between Bach and God to which we mere mortals cannot hope to have access.

Hengelbrock’s vision of the sublime is not quite so forbidding: ascending the heights

is difficult, not impossible. Rather than portraying Bach as superhuman, Hengelbrock

focuses on the composer’s creative process and stylistic synthesis.

It might be significant, however, that he does not use the term “synthesis” itself;

with the possible exception of “centrifugal forces”, Hengelbrock avoids the “language

of chemistry”, with its “penchant for properties, elements, analysis, synthesis, and

balance”, which Dreyfus (1996: 103) describes as the common trope in current Bach

reception. Dreyfus contrasts this recent approach with the metaphysical rhetoric of

writers like Spitta. These writers, he argues, portray Bach “as a godlike creator” and

“as an active personal hovering above his contemporaries”, divorcing his music from

its historical context (ibid). Hengelbrock attempts a combination of the two tropes –

speaking of Bach’s stylistic synthesis in almost metaphysical terms. The content is

very different from Volbach’s, but the style and imagery have much in common.

Hengelbrock’s language is also suffused with expressive terminology. Like

Thomas, he emphasises the music’s expressive immediacy:

Whatever the text in which it is clothed, the music addresses our concerns, our loneliness, despair, joy and rapture. (Hengelbrock 1997)

He is therefore ambivalent about the importance of the texts, with their

specifically Christian message. At one point, he argues that the Mass’s text is not a

useful starting point in interpreting the parody movements; instead, these should be

interpreted with reference to the texts that originally inspired them (ibid). Elsewhere,

he argues for a hermeneutic approach that could reveal the music’s content through

rhetoric-as-semantics, without recourse to any verbal text: the musical material of the “Et resurrexit” and the “Et expecto resurrectionem”, with its resurrection, deliverance and (self-?)liberation motifs, would have lost nothing of its immediacy in the (presumably lost) wordless instrumental version. (ibid; see also pp. 195f below)

Hengelbrock’s approach is not a-historical; but he clearly believes that historical

information can be used selectively and creatively. Modern interpreters, using

contemporary relevance as a criterion, are free to choose which aspects of the original

context to focus on and recreate. Dispensing not just with the possibility, but with the

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desirability of a definitive interpretation, he seeks a decidedly personalised approach,

in which Intensity – and communicability – are paramount.

6.3.2. Hengelbrock’s Mass

Hengelbrock’s ideology is clearly reflected in his performance style, which is

alternately detailed and brash, highly-inflected and immediately arresting. His choral

sound is quite similar to Herreweghe’s. However, he differs from Herreweghe,

Thomas, Harnoncourt (1986) and Christophers, among others, in his orchestral

sonority. His orchestra sounds smaller and more compact than Thomas’s (although, in

fact, it is slightly larger), with an incisive, focused string sonority.

In other features, he strongly resembles Thomas: the wide spectrum of

dynamics, tempo, and articulation, and the employment of sharp contrasts between

movements. His performance approaches both the slowest tempi on record (e.g., First

Kyrie, Second Kyrie) and the fastest (e.g., Cum Sancto Spiritu). In this sense, his

approach is reminiscent of Hermann Scherchen’s (p. 50 above). Hengelbrock also

resembles Thomas in his constant employment of moment-to-moment inflections in

all parameters, sometimes as fine nuances, sometimes as dramatic contrasts; it is this

feature, above all, that convinced me of the appropriateness of treating both

conductors under a single heading.

On the other hand, Hengelbrock seems more selective than Thomas in

employing these nuances: he reserves them primarily for contemplative or darkly

expressive movements (First Kyrie, Second Kyrie, Qui tollis, Qui sedes, Crucifixus,

Agnus dei, Dona nobis).6 Here, Hengelbrock emulates some aspects of Harnoncourt’s

style: he applies detailed inflections to individual motifs, shaping different parts

simultaneously in a way that leads sometimes to mutual clashes. He differs from

Harnoncourt in a greater willingness to employ legato articulation and in usually

avoiding dynamics and accentuation that go against the music’s metre.

For example, Hengelbrock’s Qui tollis (CD 1: 16) closely resembles

Harnoncourt’s 1986 Crucifixus (pp. 234ff below), and goes further than

Harnoncourt’s Qui tollis, in contrasting strong accentuation of the “static” parts (cello,

continuo) with independent flow of the flutes, violins, and chorus. The two types of

6 The Benedictus is perhaps more restrained than one might expect, especially compared with Hickox’s. In both Thomas and Hengelbrock, the Et in spiritum is rich in local nuance, but on a narrow range.

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movements are set against each other, with the cello and continuo strengthened by the

accentuation and separation of slurred pairs in the viola (initially, at least; the effect

gradually subsides). The choral parts, however, are shaped mainly by directional

dynamics in a largely legato context. A similar contrast occurs between the continuo

line’s sharp punctuations and the violins’ continuous phrases in the Agnus dei;

Thomas is similarly expansive – and slower – in this movement, but his bass is shaped

in a more neutral, non-disruptive fashion.

In movements with lighter, more cheerful affects, Hengelbrock is often more

sparing in his application of nuances. His Christe and Domine deus, though by no

means static or uninflected, sound understated in their degree of inflection, compared

either with the more contemplative movements mentioned above, or with Thomas’s

treatment of the same movements. The Laudamus and Et in unum, however, receive

more detailed readings.

Hengelbrock’s treatment of the celebratory trumpet choruses (see quote on p.

158 above) is more consistent. He takes these movements in a fast tempo – his Cum

sancto is possibly the fastest on record (see also his Resurrexit, CD 4: 27). By his own

standards (and also compared to Harnoncourt, Thomas, Hickox, and on occasion

Christophers and Herreweghe), he employs a relatively narrow dynamic range and

avoids distinctive phrase-boundaries (though he does occasionally drive the

movements towards a distinct climax – e.g., Cum Sancto, bars 112ff). His main

concern is, apparently, to maximise the contrast between these movements and their

surrounding – in this respect, Hengelbrock’s performances resembles Gardiner’s.

It is possible, of course, that Hengelbrock found it impossible to apply detailed

inflections given his fast tempi; even if that is the case, his choice to retain these tempi

is significant. In the two cases where a festive sonority is combined with a slower

tempo, he does inject more detail. In the Gratias and Dona nobis, he constructs

continuous arches, reminiscent of Gardiner (p. 150 above). In the Sanctus (CD 1: 25),

his detailed inflections undermine the movement’s customary solidity.

Notwithstanding the moderate tempo and the emphatic treatment of trumpets and

timpani, his performance does not project a solid, majestic affect. Instead,

Hengelbrock creates a sense of flux, of constant ebb-and-flow of tension and release.

As I noted (p. 115 above), Herreweghe (1996) also generates subtle momentum

through a simultaneous combination of different dynamic trajectories. Hengelbrock’s

dynamic range is wider, however, and his dynamic arches span longer phrases. In one

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case (bars 9-13), he creates continuity where there is often a clear caesura: the

downbeat of bar 13, which usually signals the beginning of a new phrase, is here

projected as the culmination and continuation of the previous crescendo. An even

longer arch is created in bars 29-40. At the anacrusis to bar 30, Hengelbrock switches

momentarily to concertists, creating a lighter texture and – especially in the context of

a performance already rich in dynamic inflection – the expectation of a crescendo.

The precise location of the choir’s re-introduction is harder to detect, though full

choral texture is certainly present by the middle of bar 33. This point, which is not

infrequently shaped as a crescendo, here emerges as the continuation and

intensification of one, part of a series of increasing waves whose culmination,

however, is often subtly thwarted.

To some ears (and certainly to the present writer’s), the effect of these

techniques is to introduce an element of yearning, of striving towards a goal, into a

movement that is usually projected as calm and confident; the view seems reminiscent

of Harnoncourt’s description of the Et in terra (see pp. 104f above). The Pleni returns

to the more familiar, exuberant-ecstatic mood of other celebratory choruses.

The sense of yearning and vulnerability does not, therefore, pervade

Hengelbrock’s performance in its entirety; but it is more present here than in most

readings of the Mass. His performance is strongly individualised, not only in its

personalised gestures and frequent contrasts, but also in questioning the music’s

monumentality even when he employs ostensibly monumental parameters (slow

tempi, bass-heavy sonorities).

6.4. Summary

Thomas and Hengelbrock both had an “apprenticeship” period within an

already-established HIP tradition; their own ensembles also period instruments.

Hengelbrock’s references to the parody models and to rhetoric-as-semantics constitute

an acknowledgement of the value of historical awareness.7

Their primary aim, however, is to communicate directly with present-day

listeners, and they are less concerned with reviving aspects of the original context.

7 Indeed, all the components of Hengelbrock’s ideology can be found in Harnoncourt’s essays as well. There is a difference in emphasis; but it should also be recalled that the sources are disproportionate: two essay collections, several liner notes and interview-articles for Harnoncourt, one short essay for Hengelbrock.

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Thomas is content with the modern contexts of recording and the concert hall;

Hengelbrock imaginatively sought to incorporate the Mass into modern dance theatre.

Their quest for immediate communication is linked with their highly dramatic image

of Bach, emphasising Intensity as a particularly enduring aspect of his legacy.

These features are connected to their unabashedly personalised styles. The need

to project emotions vividly to a modern audience encourages the removal of

inhibitions: the message is paramount, and means of performance are judged

primarily by their effectiveness in communicating it. Consequently, these “neo-

romantic” musicians are, arguably, closer to realising both the “individualism” and the

“emotional expression” criteria than any symphonic Bach conductor, at least within

the Mass’s discography (with the possible exception of Hermann Scherchen).

The two conductors’ Bach images also have clear knife-edge-balance

undertones, and this aspect is vividly portrayed in their recordings: they are keen to

explore the music’s internal tensions and conflicts. When shaping a movement, they

project the structure dramatically, without attempting to create the illusion of

inevitability (see pp. 195ff, 210ff, 213 and 238ff below).

Thomas also differs from “symphonic” conductors in treating arias with as

much expressive detail as choruses. Hengelbrock is perhaps more traditional in this

sense, treating some solo numbers as “lighter relief” between more interpretatively-

detailed (and hence, implicitly, more “attention-worthy”) items.

Both these aspects have clearly emerged from the conductors’ HIP

apprenticeship: the equal treatment of choruses and arias is an HIP commonplace; and

the performative realisation of “knife-edge-balance” is no less apparent in

Harnoncourt 1986 than in Thomas or Hengelbrock. Many of their specific

performative techniques can also be traced back to earlier HIP renditions.

Hengelbrock and Thomas combined Harnoncourt’s detail and freedom with

other conductors’ return to long phrases as means of expression (one area where they

are likely to be accused of anachronism). Through this combination, they create a

style richer in contrast and nuance than anything in the Mass’s past discography.

Given the still-common claims that HIP has restricted the expressive range available

for Bach performance, their performances are highly significant counter-evidence –

not just for the “trivial” reason that they employ period instruments, but for the more

significant one that their style could not have emerged without the lessons learned

from historical performance.

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PART TWO

CASE STUDIES

7. Texture, Rhetoric and Shape: First Kyrie

7.1. Comments on Bach’s vocal fugues1 Bach was forever writing fugues. No pursuit was better fitted for his temperament, and there is none by which the development of his art can be so precisely evaluated. (Gould 1984: 15)

The predominance of fugal textures in Bach’s oeuvre in general – and in the

Mass in particular – and the division of opinion on their expression and significance,

make the treatment of fugue a particularly fertile ground for examination in a project

such as present dissertation. This chapter and the next will deal with two of the most

celebrated fugal movements in the Mass, which both set the same text. The First

Kyrie is regarded as an example of the more modern, Baroque style, whereas the

Second Kyrie is said to represent the stile antico; therefore, the former is often

considered the more “Intense” of the two.

7.1.1. Fugue and Bach’s image

Counterpoint generally, and fugue specifically, are often regarded as the

pinnacle of Bach’s achievement, and as primary justifications for the more abstract,

cerebral views of his oeuvre (Yearsley 2002: xiii-xiv; see also p. 6 above). His fugues

are usually viewed within a balance-as-equilibrium paradigm, embodying a union of

melodic and harmonic forces. However, this view has been challenged by more

conflicted, “knife-edge-balance” theories.

1 This section should be read as an introduction to both this chapter and the next.

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Cone, whose views typify the “Equilibrium” position, considers mono-

thematicism the “one formal principle” of all Baroque music, ensuring its stability and

balance. This is most evident in ritornelli and fugal expositions, which establish both

the tonality and the thematic materials. Even in episodes, however, the modulatory

motion has “an apparent inexorability”, reflecting “the regular progression of beat to

beat, measure to measure, phrase to phrase” (Cone 1968: 71).

A similar image of inherent stability informs Werner Neumann’s J. S. Bachs

Chorfuge. Neumann views Bach’s polyphony as essentially architectonic, rather than

organic, aiming at exhausting the demands and possibilities of the musical materials

and their combinations (1953: 103-105). In his view, textural-dramatic considerations

were far from Bach’s own mind, and his polyphony is reminiscent of the abstract

voice-leading of Netherlands polyphony (ibid: 101). He therefore focuses on the

music’s objective-structural Being (“objektive-strukturellen Sosein”), an element

insufficiently explored by writers like Spitta and Schering, whom he considers

excessively subjective (ibid: 1-6).

Theodor Adorno presents a diametrically opposed view of Bach’s fugal writing: The art of fugue composition is one of motivic economy, of exploiting the smallest part of a theme in order to make it into an integral whole. It is an art of dissection; one could almost say, of dissolving Being, posited as the theme, and hence incompatible with the common belief that this being maintains itself static and unchanged throughout the fugue. By comparison to this technique Bach employs the genuinely medieval one of polyphonic figuration, of imitation, only secondarily.2 (Adorno 1967: 139)

“Dissolution” is also central to Ernst Kurth’s theory of linear counterpoint (first

published in 1917). Kurth contrasts the “phenomena of thematic consolidation

[Verdichtung] and thematic dissolution [Auflösung]” (1991: 60), which distinguish

“thematic representation[s]” from “transitional passage[s]” (ibid: 73). “Dissolution” is

defined as the dissection and simplification of thematic materials, to the point where

they dissolve into “generalization of their dynamic progressions”; transitional passages in works of the most diverse kinds and of the most heterogeneous content evolve certain typical motives, which are identical or at least very similar to one another. (ibid: 65)

Kurth’s discourse is suffused with the terminology of tension, opposition and

struggle. He regards internal conflict as the source of Bach’s power, and its absence as

2 Müller-Blattau (1963: 88) cites this paragraph alongside Besseler’s references to Charakterthemen in Bach’s fugues, as examples of analyses focusing on the expressive aspects of Bach’s polyphony.

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the chief weakness of his 19th-century imitators (ibid: 72). His theory thus exemplifies

the knife-edge-balance approach: Complexity and Intensity (and the questioning of

thematic Unity through Dissolution) are closely intertwined.

Kurth’s theory was applied to Bach’s choral fugues by his student Eugen

Thiele.3 Thiele observes two opposing tendencies within Baroque fugue: the

objective, “Apollonian” character of Medieval and Renaissance music, represented by

polyphonic textures and imitative techniques – and the “Dionysian”, individualistic

legacy of the Seconda Pratica, represented by the fugue’s strongly characterised

subjects (1936: 12-19, 152-156). In demonstrating this struggle, Thiele relies on

Kurth’s concept of thematic dissolution (ibid: 129-139).

Thiele argues that Bach’s own fugues increasingly intensify and expose this

inherent tension; he speaks of diminishing clarity in Bach’s fugal oeuvre. Bach was

thus moving away from Enlightenment ideals just as they were in the ascendant.4 He

proposes a theological interpretation for this – albeit one which focuses on restless

yearning for God, rather than the calm expression of God’s perfection (ibid: 215-216).

Another attempt to question the Fugue-as-stable-balance approach focuses on

rhetorical theory. Gregory Butler argues that the concepts of argument and dispute

were central to Baroque fugal theory. The theorists he cites do not speak in highly

dramatic terms. For example, Mattheson (in Butler 1977: 64) speaks of “combatants”

(“Kämpfer”) whose “pleasant dispute” (“Luststreit”) ends in concord; tension,

represented in Confutatio sections, is eventually resolved. In Butler’s view, however,

most 20th-century theorists downplay the very presence of tension. Their terms for

Confutatio (e.g., “episode”, “interlude”), are deceptive: they imply a “relaxation of

dramatic tension”, whereas Confutatio’s salient features are “[f]rictions and clashes”,

“thematic [...] fragmentation” and “climactic intensification” (ibid: 99).

Butler’s discussion is reminiscent of rhetoric-as-semantics theories (though his

specific emphasis is on rhetoric-as-structure). In a more recent survey of fugue-

3 Thiele studied with Kurth in Bern; his book is based on a dissertation written under Kurth’s supervision. I am grateful to Lee Rothfarb (personal communication) for this information. 4 Compare with Gould’s explanation of the gradual dissipation of fugal writing in the late 18th century: “In the age of reason the fugue seemed essentially unreasonable” (1984: 16). Walker (2000: 303-315) describes the debate between Bokemeyer (arguing in support of counterpoint) and Mattheson (arguing against the centrality of counterpoint) in terms of a clash between two conceptions of rationalism; for a more general discussion of counterpoint and rationalism (including Bach’s position), see Yearsley 2002: 42-92. On Bach’s resistance of Enlightenment demands for stylistic clarity, see Dreyfus 1996: 131-133.

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rhetoric relations, Paul Walker (1999: 161) argues that Butler overstates his case: the

relationship between music and rhetoric was “simpler, more general, and less

extensive than Butler attempted to assert”. The theoreticians’ discourse has “more to

do with the way we humans express ourselves about music” (ibid: 174) than with the

way music is composed and heard; and categories of rhetoric-as-structure are ill-

equipped for analysing Bach’s music (ibid: 173-175).

Butler’s article implies that the conception of fugue-as-order is a modern

invention. David Yearsley, in his recent study of “the meanings that have attached

themselves to Bach’s contrapuntal works” (2002: 210), presents a more nuanced

picture: the notion of counterpoint as a reflection of divine order was in fact prevalent

and central in Bach’s lifetime (ibid: 28-33), but it existed alongside other strands.

Bach’s own stance in these debates is not always easy to gauge, but he was certainly

aware of counterpoint’s potential for generating conflict and unease (ibid: 99-110).

Kurth, Thiele, Adorno and Butler approach fugue from different ideological

angles, but they all dispute the idea of the fugue as calm, orderly and balanced in the

conventional, “equilibrium” sense. They also converge on a specific analytic point –

that “transitions” or “episodes” are more tense and intense than thematic expositions.

7.1.2. Performative implications

Cone’s view of baroque music as essentially stable is related to an x/- approach

to performance, promoting inflexibility as an ideal. Tensions, where present, can

“express themselves naturally in accordance with the varying rhythmic context” as

long as performers maintain “a relative equalization of the beats” (1968: 70).

A specific conclusion concerning fugues is that, if the subject is indeed the

focus of stability, it should maintain a steady character. This view is succinctly

represented in Rosalyn Tureck’s prescriptions in “How to Play a Fugue”: Since the basic figure of the subject remains constant, the phrasing of that figure should also remain constant. Thus, throughout a fugue, or any composition built on constant motives, the phrasing for the motives remains unchanged. (Tureck 1960, II: 20)

At their most rigid, realisations of such prescriptions reflect a non-

developmental conception: the subject is consistently phrased in an internally stable,

unyielding manner; episodes are treated as momentary relief, devoid of forward

momentum (see also p. 185 below). The effect is intensified when the subject is

highlighted in all appearances, a feature which Tureck both preached and practised.

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As Rothstein (1995: 229-231) points out, this approach is at odds with Bach’s

frequent employment of concealed entries (see also Rosen 1996: 3-7).

Such formulaic approaches can be seen as the performative equivalents of the

fugue-as-law image, which is sometimes cited among the main reasons for the decline

of fugal writing and analysis alike in the 19th and 20th centuries (Mann 1987: 6-8, 63-

69).5 An endorsement of knife-edge-balance views implies a rather different

performative realisation of polyphony (cf. McClary 1987: 61, quoted on p. 10 above).

Harnoncourt is perhaps the only performer who explicitly advocates a similar

approach (see p. 98 above); his scepticism towards the primacy of clarity is

reminiscent of Thiele. He is not, however, the only performer to generate tension and

conflict within Bach’s polyphonic textures.

7.2. First Kyrie: The shaping of the subject The First Kyrie is usually considered among the most Intense parts of the Mass.

Nonetheless, there is a diversity of opinion regarding the sources, degree and

character of the movement’s expressiveness. Views range from Spitta’s classification

of this movement as “epic” (1889, III: 54) to Wolff’s emphasis on its “driving,

modulatory theme” (1991: 102). The range of performative interpretations is, if

anything, wider than that of verbal ones.

The movement is clearly mono-thematic: the subject is pervasive, and most

other motives are derived from it. The shaping of the subject therefore has a

significant effect on the shaping of the movement as a whole.

7.2.1. Interpretations in theory

7.2.1.1. The limits of the subject

There are two opinions about the subject’s length. Some writers (e.g., Terry

1924: 33; Blankenburg 1974: 27) see it as lasting just over two bars:

5 This concept, however, does have its roots in 18th-century discourse, sometimes with distinctly political overtones (Yearsley 2002: 166-170).

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Example 7.1: First Kyrie subject, short version

Others (e.g. Stauffer 1997b: 56) extend it further, to encompass four bars:

Example 7.2: First Kyrie subject, long version

The longer version seems largely irrelevant for performance analysis: while

several conductors treat the end of the shorter version as a distinct point of

demarcation, none, in my experience, treat the end of the longer version this way. It

seems, therefore, that a performer who accepts the longer version, and a performer

who finds it undesirable to isolate the subject at all (and for whom, therefore, the

precise demarcation of the subject is unimportant), would be indistinguishable in

practice. A more important question, in terms of performative realisation, is the

treatment of units within the subject.

7.2.1.2. The character of the subject

Fugal subjects are often regarded as anchors of stability. Deryck Cooke (1959:

8-9) compares them to “a brick or a block of stone [...] something of no importance in

itself, only useful as raw material to be built into a structure”. However, he cites the

subject of the First Kyrie among the exceptions – cases where “the thematic material

of polyphony is itself expressive, even highly expressive”. Most commentators would

accept this view. They differ, however, on the level of internal tension between the

subject’s constituent motifs.

Charles Terry, for example, views the subject as a single rising gesture which,

“shorn of embellishments, reveals itself in its chromatic structure as typical, in Bach’s

idiom, of mental grief and torment” (1924: 32-33).

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Example 7.3: First Kyrie subject, Terry’s analysis

While Terry discards the G-F# appoggiatura from his analysis, John Butt (1991:

87) considers it “the most significant component of the opening harmony”, central to

the movement’s motivic structure and expressive import. When properly articulated,

with an accent on the off-beat G, it “rubs against the meter – it’s a metrical and

melodic dissonance” (in Sherman 1997: 180; see also Butt 1990: 30).

Other writers view the subject as a series of connected figures. Stauffer (1997:

55-56), relying in part on Blankenburg’s analysis (1974: 27), enumerates five of them:

Repercussio (“Kyrie”);6 a double-layered “wedge”, including Butt’s “sigh” figure in

its lower register; a “chromatic digression”; and Exclamatio (the A#-G leap).7

Blankenburg (ibid) classifies the upper register of the “wedge” as Gradatio (cf. p. 174

below); Harnoncourt suggests a rhetoric-as-semantics analysis of its rhythmic pattern: The rhythm Ä | � à � � à Ä | � that pulsates throughout the Kyrie I can be interpreted as a very intensive musical-rhetorical gesture: “Lord, have mercy on us”. (Harnoncourt 1968: 11; reprinted Harnoncourt 1989: 191)

If one is urgently asking for something one drops to one’s knees, tugs at garments, and this gesture of supplication has an element of tugging, even when translated into music. (Harnoncourt 1986: 39)

Example 7.4: First Kyrie subject, analysed into figures

6 Stauffer defines Repercussio as a “repeated-note motive”. This definition is, however, at odds with all other definitions known to me (cf. Bartel 1997: 372-374; Walker 2000: 443). Blankenburg (1974: 27) uses the German designation “Reperkussionstöne”. 7 Blankenburg contends that this dissonant leap constitutes both Exclamatio and Parrhesia; however, cf. Bartel 1997: 352-356.

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Harnoncourt’s imagery is reminiscent of Terry’s (1924: 32): “with hands

upstretched to heaven, Ecclesia christiana makes confession of sin and begs

forgiveness”. Terry’s gesture, however, is ascending, continuous and flowing (cf.

Dickinson 1950: 192; Mellers 1980: 164), whereas Harnoncourt’s is descending,

halting and hesitant.

To sum up: most verbal descriptions of the subject can be classified into two

hearings: a single ascending gesture, or a web of shorter motifs in contrary motion.

Though the latter conception is implicit in Kurth’s theory of polyphonic melody,8 it

becomes predominant in analyses informed by rhetorical theory.

7.2.2. Interpretations in practice

In this section, I will discuss the subject in its initial appearances: the opening

statement by the first flute and first oboe (bars 5-9) and the tenor’s entry commencing

the first fugal exposition (bars 30-33). In these appearances, the subject is sufficiently

exposed to allow a listener to detect most details in its shaping. Two things, however,

must be mentioned at the outset:

1. The subject never appears entirely in isolation; its character is partly

determined by the shaping of its surroundings.

2. In most performances, the subject is not shaped identically in all

appearances; the statements discussed here are not necessarily

representative of their respective renditions.

7.2.2.1. Smooth shaping

Within the subject, constituent units can be distinguished by dynamics and

articulation alike. The least disruptive option, however, is to avoid these distinctions

and perform the subject sempre legato with little or no dynamic inflection. In the

absence of the Gradatio’s upward trajectory, a slight separation of the lower

appoggiaturas does not alter the basic affect: since there is no rising gesture, neither

the appoggiaturas nor the chromatic digression can be felt to disrupt it. This smoother

approach is prevalent among symphonic conductors (e.g., Karajan, Jochum, Lehmann,

8 This is reflected in Thiele’s analysis: while ultimately describing the subject as a single rising gesture (1936: 37), he also draws attention to its constituent figures, in the context of Kurth’s theory (ibid: 23, 26, 28).

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Maazel, Giulini), as well as pre-1980s, modern instrument Bach specialists like

Münchinger, Rilling (1977), Corboz (1979) and Marriner.

The most consistent representative of this approach is Karajan (CD 2: 1-2): in

both his commercial recordings, the subject is shaped with very little inflection or

distinction between components. Most other performances are more varied. For

example, Jochum 1957 (CD 2: 4-5) features divisions into short legati in the vocal

statement, and a slight crescendo in the Gradatio figure. The lower appoggiatura is

slightly distinguished by being sung more piano than its already-soft surroundings.

7.2.2.2. Statuesque readings

Before the advent of HIP, the main rival to the “smooth” approach was the

sternly articulated interpretation of Ramin, Mauersberger, Richter and Klemperer. The

most extreme representative, in this particular case, is Mauersberger (CD 2: 7-8):

Example 7.5. First Kyrie, bars 30-32; Mauersberger (CD 2: 8)

Here, the subject’s constituent elements are separated, but they all seem to have

the same character. The appoggiatura is distinctly isolated from the higher quaver

pairs; the latter, however, are not connected to each other. Due to equalised

accentuation and static dynamics, there is little sense of overall flow.

While this characterisation holds true, in my view, for Richter’s performance of

this movement (see p. 188 below), this is only hinted at by his initial shaping of the

subject. The two instrumental statements (CD 2: 10) sound meticulously weighted,

note-by-note. The vocal shaping (CD 2: 11) is initially more expansive: legato

articulation in groups of four; individual notes clearly enunciated, but without

Mauersberger’s insistent aspiration.

Here, too, dynamic rigidity and bright, harsh sonorities create a statuesque

effect, especially in contrast with the softer, more flexible shaping of non-subject

materials. Klemperer’s version exemplifies the opposite approach: strict shaping of

the subject in a performance which, on the whole, is revealed to be more flexible.

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7.2.2.3. Lightweight readings

Renditions of the First Kyrie’s subject reveal two contrasting trends within HIP:

an increasingly light approach, and a growing awareness of internal tensions (see also

p. 245 below). The most extreme realisation of the former tendency, however, comes

from a non-HIP recording – Schreier 1982. This reading is closer to the Leipzig

tradition, not only in its genealogy but also in its specific musical elements. In all

instrumental statements (including the bass in bar 22), it combines insistent staccati

on quavers with almost equally incisive articulation in the surrounding texture;

dynamics are almost uninflected:

Example 7.6: First Kyrie, bars 5-7; Schreier 1982 (CD 2: 13)

The choral articulation (CD 2: 14) is less incisive, but equally rigid.

Schreier’s reading is reminiscent of Mauersberger’s in its dynamic and

articulatory rigidity. The light textures, fast tempo and more incisive articulation,

however, are more typical of the then-emerging HIP style, as is the treatment of Ö.êµ as

a separate figure.

A similar, if milder, approach can be found in Parrott (CD 2: 16-18), Schreier

1991 (CD 2: 28), Eby, Koopman (CD 2: 36-38) and Fasolis. The articulation is gently

detached;9 the effect is closer to dance-like elegance than to aggressive, harshly-

accentuated staccato. This does not depend on articulation alone: an impression of

lightness arguably involves lighter texture, avoidance of heavy emphases or harsh

downbeat accentuation, and some degree of dynamic and/or tempo flexibility.10 Thus,

Schreier 1982 generates heaviness through rigid dynamics and accentuation.

In Parrott’s case, the lightweight effect is more pronounced in the isolated

Ä | Ä Öµ � Ä Öµ Ä |Ä Öµ figure (bars 19-21 and simile; see, for example, his rendition of bars

72-80 at the beginning of CD 2: 18) than within the subject (where an emphasis on the

lower appoggiatura balances the lighter effect in the upper register). 9 Schreier 1991’s subject remains, however, more clipped than any period instrument performance. 10 Anything that generates an overly static feel (e.g., terraced dynamics, metronomic rigidity) would also generate heaviness. On the other hand, huge dynamic changes – of the type employed by Jochum and Karajan (1952) – and waves of rubato are also unlikely to generate a feeling of lightness.

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Example 7.7: First Kyrie, bars 5-7; Parrott (CD 2: 16)

In both Parrott (CD 2: 17) and Koopman (CD 2: 37), vocal statements of the subject

are less clipped and more dynamically flexible than instrumental statements:11

Example 7.8: First Kyrie, bars 30-32; Parrott (CD 2: 17)

All the above-mentioned performances retain the forward placing of the subject

(vis-à-vis other strands in the texture), at least in instrumental statements. This adds to

the sense of lightness; the Ä | Ä figure’s buoyancy would probably have been softened

by a fuller surrounding texture.

These performances typify the features that led critics to speak of

HIP/modernist performances as lightweight and inconsequential. Their suggestion of

cheerfulness does not correspond to any verbal interpretation familiar to me, and

might not have been intended, as such, by the musicians (though it might reflect a +/-

aesthetics). Detailed examination would be required to test whether many listeners

would perceive this expression within these performances.12

7.2.2.4. Rhetorical readings

Rhetorically-inclined performers draw out several of the figures that have been

read out of (or into) the subject. Emphases on the lower appoggiatura’s “metric

dissonance” are relatively rare. There are occasional hints in several performances

(including the pre-HIP Scherchen 1950 and Shaw 1960); in other cases, the

11 The difference is much more strongly pronounced in Koopman’s recording, where the vocal statements are shaped with the familiar group-of-four and a small-scale crescendo on the Gradatio figure (with the sighs rendered slightly quieter, but not separated). 12 Schreier 1982 bears the hallmarks that Patrik Juslin (2001: 316) associates with expression of happiness: “fast tempo, high sound level, staccato articulation, large articulation variability, fast tone attacks, and bright timbres”. The other performances described here bear most of these hallmarks as well, but do not match Schreier 1982 for “tone attacks”.

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appoggiatura’s first note is emphasised when the subject is stated in the bass (bars 22-

23), but not in other statements (e.g., Rifkin 1982, Gardiner, Leonhardt, Harnoncourt

1968 and 1986, Rilling 1988). The most consistent emphasis on this figure can be

found in Hengelbrock’s choral statements.

The Gradatio receives more consistent attention from HIP performers

(primarily those of rhetorical inclination). Wenzinger (1968: 42) equated Gradatio

with crescendo (compare, however, Bartel 1997: 220-225, 267). There are two ways

to realise this identification in the Kyrie subject: three separate crescendi; and linked,

continuous crescendi, creating a single gesture out of the three disparate pairs.

Leonhardt’s performance demonstrates the first approach. In the instrumental

statements, dynamic gradation is implied by articulation: a light upbeat followed by

an accented, tenuto, downbeat from woodwinds and bass alike.13 This latter affect

contributes to the Gradatio’s prominence by submerging the lower appoggiaturas.

Example 7.9: First Kyrie, bars 5-7; Leonhardt (CD 2: 21)

Leonhardt’s vocal statements are phrased in the standard four-note pattern.

Dynamics play a more distinctive role here: a subtle internal echo allowing

prominence to the Gradatio’s two-note crescendo.

Example 7.10: First Kyrie, bars 30-32; Leonhardt (CD 2: 22)

13 In Gardiner’s and Hickox’s instrumental statements (CD 2: 19, 29), a similar effect is achieved through distinct shaping of strong and weak beats in the bass. The continuo line emerges as a distinct melody, but its pattern of accents supports the emphasis on the subject’s Gradatio.

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A similar pattern occurs in Herreweghe 1988 (CD 2: 26-27), albeit with more

continuous support from the bass and a clearer tendency towards overall dynamic

construction. In the vocal statements (CD 2: 27), Herreweghe submerges the lower

appoggiaturas by joining them together with the downbeat; the emerging pattern is

Ä Ö-µ, rather than the more conventional Ä Ä Öµ.

Example 7.11: First Kyrie, bars 30-32; Herreweghe 1988 (CD 2: 27)

The vocal statements in Herreweghe 1996 provide the clearest illustration of the

Gradatio as a single crescendo:14

Example 7.12: First Kyrie, bars 30-32; Herreweghe 1996 (CD 2: 40)

Similar patterns can be found in Jacobs, Hengelbrock (CD 2: 43-44), Koopman

(vocal statements; CD 2: 37), Brüggen, Christophers, and Jeffrey Thomas (CD 2: 33-

34). The last mentioned, however, seems closer to the older tradition of viewing the

subject as single rising gesture, especially in the vocal statements:15

Example 7.13: First Kyrie, bars 30-32; J. Thomas (CD 2: 34)

14 In the opening ritornello, the crescendo is created more by the strings (especially bass) than by the winds’ shaping of the subject. 15 This might also be said of Christophers’ and Brüggen’s shaping of the vocal entries.

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While not all vocal entries are shaped in precisely this manner, the sense of continuity

– within and beyond the phrase – is always palpable. I was unable to find another

performance that projects a similar trajectory.

Thomas Hengelbrock projects the Gradatio figure beyond (but not through) the

lower appoggiaturas (and more clearly in vocal than in instrumental statements).

However, his shaping of this figure, and of the subject as a whole, is deliberately

hesitant. Hengelbrock shapes the vocal entries as a series of legato pairs. This

articulation is by no means unique to Hengelbrock (cf. Brüggen’s instrumental

statements, Gardiner’s vocal statements). But Hengelbrock’s tempo is slower, his

emphases heavier, the breaths separating the pairs more extended, and the dynamic

contrast between higher and lower strata more clearly distinct. Thus, his “sighs”,

unaccented though they are, still act as interruptions to the Gradatio.

Example 7.14: First Kyrie, bars 30-32; Hengelbrock (CD 2: 44)

The same factors are also present in Harnoncourt’s 1986 reading of this

movement.16 Harnoncourt’s tempo (± = 50) is not as slow Hengelbrock’s (± = 46). On

the other hand, Harnoncourt’s emphases and accentuations are heavier, and the

separations between phrases often longer. The “tug in the garment” imagery (see p.

170 above) focuses on a particular figure, but its spirit affects the performance even

when that figure is absent: there is a sense of something being dragged backwards,

tugged in the opposite direction to its purported motion. Thus, the impression of

constant, deliberate interruption is even stronger.

In the orchestral statements, this effect is further intensified through the

independent shaping of the bass. Earlier (p. 174n above), I cited examples wherein the

bass line supporting the subject’s trajectory; here the two are at odds with one another.

Harnoncourt does not ignore the strong-weak metric division; but he shapes the bass

as an independent melody, whose trajectory only partly coincides with the subject’s.

16 In Harnoncourt 1968, the orchestral statements are clearly articulated, but the effect is of comfortable flow reminiscent of Münchinger. In both cases, this results from a relatively fast tempo, light texture and narrow dynamic range. The choir’s long, uninflected legato probably reflects Gillesberger’s priorities, rather than Harnoncourt’s.

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Example 7.15: First Kyrie, bars 5-14; Harnoncourt 1986 (CD 2: 23)

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In the initial vocal statements, the sense of hesitation and instability is created

primarily through the voices’ detailed articulation and deliberate accentuation of the

subject, combined, as before, with the slow tempo.

Example 7.16: First Kyrie, bars 30-32; Harnoncourt 1986 (CD 2: 24)

Across the movement, however, it is the mutual questioning of parts which is

predominant.

Harnoncourt’s and Hengelbrock’s questioning manner is an exception; the

clearer trajectories of Herreweghe and Thomas, the elegance of Koopman and Parrott,

and the calmer renditions of many others are more common. It is also these influences

that “filter” outside the HIP approach into mainstream renditions. In most cases (e.g.,

Rilling 1988, esp. instrumental statements; Schneidt; Beringer 1994; Abbado; Rilling

1999; Ozawa’s vocal statements), a flowing, dynamically-narrow approach not unlike

Münchinger’s reveals HIP influences through its lighter textures and more detailed

articulation (short legati, gently-detached non legato); a few performances (e.g.,

Biller, Ozawa’s orchestra) even approach dance-like elegance.

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7.2.2.5. Summary

Two prominent tropes in the First Kyrie’s verbal reception (the single rising

gesture and the Gradatio) focus on the subject’s overall trajectory. Only in recent

years has this become a priority in performance as well. HIP musicians, in particular,

have explored this issue, enhancing (or, more rarely, deliberately thwarting) the sense

of purpose and ebb-and-flow. Few pre-HIP renditions reveal a concern with the

subject’s overall shape; for the most part, they focus on projecting its general

character, allowing (at most) a few localised dynamic nuances.

7.3. The structure and shape of the fugue Fugal subjects are often said to contain the seeds of the character of the fugue as

a whole. In performances of the First Kyrie, this claim might be applicable in terms of

affect: how lightly or portentously the subject is performed reliably presages the

performance’s general character. But when it comes to predicting the overall shape, a

myopic discussion of the subject can be misleading.

7.3.1. Interpretations in theory

7.3.1.1. The movement’s structure

The First Kyrie’s classification as a “fugue” is not self-evident. Donald Tovey

(1937: 25-28) points out that its opening ritornello recurs twice, almost literally, as the

movement proceeds. He also observes, however, that the movement contains two

seven-part fugal expositions. In each case, the last two entries form the beginning of

the ritornello’s return.

In 17th- and 18th-century theory, the term “fugue” could refer to a section within

a movement as well as to an entire movement. Roger Bullivant (1971: 157) therefore

classifies the First Kyrie – alongside the Et in terra, Cum sancto spiritu and Et

resurrexit – as a ritornello movement with fugal episodes (cf. W. Neumann 1953: 67).

The fugal element is, however, more prominent in the First Kyrie: the expositions are

more extended, and both choral entries commence with such an exposition.

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While no counter-arguments to Tovey’s analysis have been offered, several

writers (e.g., Mellers 1980: 164-170; Stauffer 1997b: 56)17 analyse the movement as a

fugue. Others (e.g., Knapp 1974; Buelow 1981a: 38-39; Butt 1991: 61) follow

Tovey’s example in combining ritornello and fugue principles.

Emery (1954), who dismisses any reference to fugue in this movement as

wrong-headed, proposes a thematic analysis for the ritornello: The ritornello has four themes arranged thus: AAB:CDAB. B ends with a solid cadence (bars 15 and 29). [...] Themes A, C, and D have motives in common; A is also the subject of the fugal sections and occurs twice in the interlude.

The ritornello could also be analysed in terms of Wilhelm Fischer’s three-part

division of the standard ritornello, as refined by Laurence Dreyfus (1996: 60-66).

Emery’s AAB (bars 5-15) corresponds to the Vordersatz: B’s “solid cadence” accords

with that section’s tonal-syntactic function of Tonic Definition (the move from tonic

to dominant). In the conclusion, that same cadence secures the Tonic Resolution; the

final AB (bars 22-29) therefore constitutes an Epilog. The middle CD (bars 15-21)

constitutes the Fortspinnung, lacking both Tonal Definition and Tonic Resolution. D

(bars 19-21) isolates and emphasises Harnoncourt’s “tug in the garment” figure; it can

also be seen as an example of Kurth’s “dissolution” process.

17 Stauffer mentions the role of ritornello in the First Kyrie in his review of John Butt’s book (1993: 261). Mellers quotes Tovey in several instances, though not on the First Kyrie.

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Example 7.17: A reduction of the First Kyrie’s ritornello (Tovey 1937: 26). Additional markings

indicate the ritornello’s sections. V = beginning of Vordersatz; F1 = beginning of Fortspinnung

(Emery’s C); F2 = continuation of Fortspinnung (Emery’s D); E = beginning of Epilog

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The movement’s sections could therefore be defined as follows:

1. Introduction: bars 1-4

2. First Ritornello (R1), in B minor: bars 5-29

Vordersatz: bars 5-15

Fortspinnung: bars 15-21

Epilog: bars 22-29

3. First Exposition (E1), in B minor: bars 30-47

4. Second Ritornello (R2), in F#-minor: bars 48-72



Epilog: bars 65-72

5. Interlude: bars 72-80

6. Second Exposition (E2), in B minor: bars 81-101

7. Third Ritornello (R3) , in B minor: bars 102-126



Epilog: bars 119-126

The word “section”, however, is misleading: the beginnings of R2 and R3 are

disguised. A purely-fugal analysis like Stauffer’s (1997b: 56) might correspond better

to what listeners perceive, representing the façade which conceals Bach’s “hidden

ritornello” (Butt 1991: 68-69). The subject has a definite identity, and its presence and

absence registers more strongly in most listeners’ experience than the literal repeat of

the ritornello (which does not register clearly at all). Likewise, the Interlude’s solely-

instrumental scoring registers more strongly than the transitions from “Exposition” to

“Ritornello”; E1-R2 and E2-R3 register as continuous sequences (a point which Tovey

also emphasised).

7.3.1.2. The movement’s shape

The contrast between formal and audible divisions in this movement brings to

mind the distinction between the analyst’s concept of “structure” (Rink 1990: 323) or

“form” (Huray 1990: 19), and the performer’s concept of “shape” – the music’s

patterns of “tensions and relaxation, its climaxes, its changes of pace and mood” (ibid;

cf. Schmalfeldt 1985: 18; Rink 1990: 323, 2002b: 39).

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My table above is an attempt to outline the First Kyrie’s form. In terms of

audible shape, however, it might make more sense to divide the movement (from bar

5 onwards) into two sections, starting with R1 and the Interlude respectively. Most

commentators agree that the second section has a clear pattern of growing intensity;

some observe a similar pattern in the first section as well (e.g., Schweitzer 1911, II:

314; Dickinson 1950: 192).

Rilling (1984: 6) writes of the movement as being constructed of “two large-

scale choral development sections (mm. 30-72 and 81-126)”. Although he regards the

second development as more intense, he identifies a climactic point in the first section

as well – the bass’s entry in bar 45 (the final entry in E1), further intensified by the

orchestra’s doubling of the choir (marking the entry of R2). The second section’s peak

is located around bar 102. Rilling also identifies several episodes which “possess no

tendency toward development” (ibid), and allow for relative calm between subject-led

sequences of rising intensity (see also Stauffer 1997b: 56-57).

Herreweghe (in Sherman 1997: 282) implies that the movement’s shape can be

discerned in accordance with rhetorical principles, stressing the Confutatio’s

contrasting function. He does not, however, propose a detailed analysis comparable to

that of the Matthäus-Passion’s opening movement (see p. 108f above). Sherman (ibid:

282n) hypothesises a possible structure, in which R2 (which presents the dominant

key) serves as the Confutatio. Another possible candidate is the Interlude, which

contrasts with the movement’s dominant affect (see also Buelow 1981a: 26); and if

the primary criterion is heightened tension, then E2 might seem the ideal candidate.

However, the very uncertainty over the Confutatio’s location might represent another

argument against the effectiveness of the six-fold division for analysing an intricate

and continuous movement like the First Kyrie (see also p. 192 below).

For the most part, the commentaries cited above are complementary. They all

present the movement as consisting of two sections, each with a pattern of rising

intensity, with the second more intense than the first.

For many, the most dramatic moment in the first section is the bass’s entry in

bar 45 – the final fugal entry, marked by the bass’s omission until that point. In the

second section, commentators focus on bar 102 (the transition into R3) or bar 119 (the

bass statement signalling R3’s final Epilog). Stauffer (1997b: 57) writes of “the

growing crescendo” starting in bar 45, leading him to view the entire movement “as a

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plea for mercy from the depths [...] that proceeds with rising strength and

momentum”. In my view, this description is more applicable to the build-up from the

beginning of E2 to R3’s Vordersatz.

E2 builds up in a composed crescendo “from the depths” – proceeding upwards

from the bass (balanced, however, by continued thematic activity of the orchestra’s

higher registers: the choir gradually merges into the oboes and violins).18

Harmonically, too, E2 features a greater build-up of tension. In E1, the alteration of

Dux and Comes is straightforward, and each tonic statement of the subject is firmly

supported in B minor. E2, on the other hand, is tonally more active and volatile. There

are strong cadences, in the bass, on F#-minor (bars 85/6, 91), E minor (bars 96/7), and

A major (bars 93/4, 100), as well as B minor. These cadences underpin continued

activity elsewhere in the texture, which prevents closure and maintains momentum.

The subject’s entries – with the exception of the bass’s at the beginning of the

exposition – are not aligned with these cadences, and consequently do not receive the

same harmonic support as their E1 counterparts. The second soprano’s tonal entry is

avoided altogether: instead, it enters in E minor (bar 97).

In the transition to R3 (bar 102), the first soprano’s entry is questioned both

harmonically (a tonic entry of the subject underpinned by a strong applied dominant)

and texturally (the entry is disguised by the second soprano’s sustained F#). There is

no sense of closure at this point; tension is maintained throughout the ritornello’s

Vordersatz. Full resolution in the tonic is only attained at the ritornello’s Epilog.

7.3.1.3. Performative implications

The discussion above might suggest that purely structural issues are irrelevant to

performance. The undisputed fact that the movement features a complex polyphonic

texture, with fugal episodes, is sufficient to create a demand for balance and clarity,

regardless of whether one views the movement as a “pure” fugue or not.

However, formal-generic classification might still affect performance. For those

who share the “static equilibrium” concept of fugue (see pp. 163ff above), classifying

the First Kyrie as a fugue has obvious implications: expositions should be kept

relatively stable, whereas episodes with non-subject material could be treated more

18 In the opening section, the strings are silent through most of E1, joining in only on the bass’s entry in bar 45.

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flexibly. The subject should be consistently highlighted, and its phrasing and character

should remain unaltered throughout. This approach is illustrated – almost caricatured

– in Georg Solti’s performance (see also see p. 190 below).

Fugal classification also has an impact on the perception of the movement’s

character and shape. Those performers who accept the association of counterpoint and

fugue with seriousness and intellectualism are likely to avoid an overly dramatic

interpretation. In this context, however, the distinction between “fugue” and

“ritornello movement with a strong fugal element” might not be very significant.

On the face of it, the ritornello analysis would also be unlikely to affect

performance. There are no recordings of Tovey’s performances of the Mass; but given

his explicit description of the ritornello as artfully concealed from the listener (1937:

28), it is unlikely that he brought out its entries as a conductor. These entries mark key

points in the movement’s shape: the expansion of the orchestral texture at the

beginning of R2, the climactic soprano entry at the beginning of R3. These are not,

however, points of demarcation: the movement’s two sections reach a peak of tension

around, but necessarily at, these points.

This basic shape allows for a spectrum of performative realisations. E2 can be

shaped as a single, continuous rise in tension, culminating in bar 102 or beyond. Other

performances offer a less linear shape, with several ebb-and-flow patterns within E2,

making the climax at or around bar 102 less obvious. Finally, there are those who

maintain low tension through most of E2, offering only a single crescendo at bars 99-

102. There are also many performances that do not delineate strong patterns of tension

and resolution, but rather project an almost uniform level of intensity throughout.

7.3.2. Interpretations in practice

7.3.2.1. Peak at R2

In the rest of this chapter, I will focus on the shaping of the second section, and

especially on bars 81-112 (E2 and R3’s Vordersatz); in most performances, these

passages are shaped more actively than the earlier sections in the movement. There

are, however, notable exceptions to this rule.

Karl Richter, in all three recordings, reserves the most detailed, nuanced

treatment to the E1-R2 transition (CD 2: 11). There is a crescendo from bar 44 (just

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before the bass’s entry) to the soprano entry at bar 50; and the entry of instruments

doubling the choir is strongly highlighted. The rest of the Vordersatz is on the same

level, but a further crescendo through F2 creates a sense of arrival at the Epilog’s bass

entry. This shape is most vividly projected in the 1969 Japanese relay, with its faster

tempo and higher level of local nuance. The second section, however, is not treated

with similar flexibility (see p. 188 below).

Another option is represented by those conductors who adopt a concertino-

ripieno division in this movement: Shaw (1961, 1990), Gardiner and Parrott. Ehmann

(1961: 50) recommends a division in both sections, employing concertists only in E1

(up to but not including the bass entry) and in the beginnings of the Fortspinnung in

both choral ritornelli (F1, bars mid-58-61 and mid-112-115). Shaw, Gardiner and

Parrott (in his 1979 live performance) adopt only the first group of suggestions,

allocating most of E1 to soloists and then underlining the transition from E1 to R2 by

gradually introducing the ripienists. This creates a potentially dramatic gesture at the

bass’s full choral entry in bar mid-45, which is unparalleled in the second section.

Only Gardiner, however, seizes this gesture’s theatrical potential.

In Shaw’s performances, the transition from concertists to full chorus registers

as a gradual change in timbre, not a dramatic change in volume. The overall dynamic

range in the 1990 version is wider than in 1960, but this is more noticeable within

choral sections than in the transitions from soloists to choir. Within the 1990 version,

the second section is more dynamically active than the first, despite the absence of

concertino/ripieno distinction.

Parrott’s recording (CD 2: 17) seems to apply the concertino/ripieno division in

greater detail than either Shaw or Gardiner (or Parrott’s own 1979 concert). Even

when listening on headphones, however, it is not always easy to tell whether a

passage is sung solo or tutti: Parrott’s tutti consists of only two singers per part, and in

some passages the balance favours the orchestra. E1 is clearly sung by concertists up

to the bass entry, but it is not entirely clear whether there are concertino-ripieno

divisions in E2 or the choral ritornelli. In any case, none of the tutti entries registers as

a strongly accentuated moment: as in Shaw’s reading, there are more notable dynamic

changes within ripieno passages than in concertino-ripieno transitions.

Gardiner’s recording (CD 2: 20) remains, therefore, the only one in which this

transition has a forceful, dramatic effect. He intensifies this by drawing attention to

the vocal bass’s absence up to that point. The harpsichord, clearly present in R1, is

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omitted from E1, and the rest of the orchestra is placed in the background. In bar 37

(the soprano entry), Gardiner seems to omit the double-bass and bassoon. All omitted

instruments are brought back when the choral basses enter; the introduction of the full

choir is enhanced by an emphasis on the strings’ entry, and by a transition to forte.

Although Gardiner also modulates the ebb-and-flow in E2, leading into bar 102,

this section does not register as dramatically as the transition into R2. For Gardiner, as

for Richter, the entry of R2 seems to be the most dramatic, intense moment in the First

Kyrie; this also applies to Gardiner’s 1989 Proms performance.

7.3.2.2. The arch and the monument

Before 1980, most performances of the First Kyrie could be divided into two

groups. In the first group, performers applied detailed local articulation, but did not

shape large-scale structures. In the second group, performers projected clear patterns

of tension and resolution, primarily through dynamics, but employed relatively

uniform articulation. Thus, the performances cited earlier for their detailed renditions

of the subject seem relatively uneventful when one examines their shaping of the

movement as a whole, and vice versa (though some performances are fairly inactive

on both fronts; e.g., Grischkat 1959, Lehmann, Münchinger, Karajan 1974).

Two extreme examples are Mauersberger and Karajan 1952. Mauersberger (CD

2: 9) achieves remarkable textural clarity through meticulous articulation (see also p.

171 above) and cohesive tonal production. His dynamics, however, are virtually static.

Karajan 1952 (CD 2: 3) is characterised by predominantly legato articulation, with

little or no separation between phrases; his texture is treble dominated. On the other

hand, he strongly projects the movement’s overall shape (a feature rather atypical of

his performance as a whole; see p. 48 above). E2, in particular, is shaped as a single,

inexorably rising gesture: a series of crescendi, connected by brief passages of

dynamic stasis. There is a slight articulatory emphasis on the first soprano’s forte

entry in bar 102; otherwise, the exposition is shaped almost exclusively by dynamics,

and the orchestra plays a more dominant role than the choir.

An even more interesting contrast emerges from a comparison of two ostensibly

less extreme examples: Jochum 1957 (CD 2: 6) and Richter 1961 (CD 2: 12). In both

performances, attention is devoted to projecting shape and texture alike. Nonetheless,

their conceptions remain radically different.

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Richter proves more interventionist than his Saxon mentors and colleagues.

Ramin and Thomas, though not as dynamically uniform as Mauersberger, do not

attempt to project anything similar to Karajan’s arch of rising tension; Richter goes

one step further, seemingly seeking to prevent this arch from arising. As I noted (p.

185 above), Richter’s E1 is comparatively nuanced. As in his Et in terra (see p. 65f

above), however, nuance is reserved to less dramatic moments.19 The second section

is built in a much stricter, terraced manner – even in the live 1969 relay.

Terraced rigidity is already clear in the Interlude (beginning of CD 2: 12), where

the four phrases are mutually distinct and internally uniform. The basses then enter

sforzando – there is no diminuendo in the end of the Interlude; the subject is shaped

more meticulously, resembling the instruments’ weighting of the subject in R1, rather

than the chorus’s more expansive approach in E1 (see p. 171 above). This powerful

gesture places the climax at the beginning of the second section. There is nowhere to

go from this point, unless dynamics are reduced to allow for a new crescendo, an

option which Richter avoids. There is a small-scale crescendo in bars 99-104, and a

slight lightening of intensity (softer dynamics and timbre) on R3’s F1; but another

crescendo through F2 leads back into an intense rendition of R3’s Epilog. These small

modifications notwithstanding, Richter’s shaping of the movement creates an

unyielding, monumental impression.

Eugen Jochum’s vision of the First Kyrie, in both of his recordings, is more

organic and developmental. The beginnings of all main structural sections are

highlighted – though not necessarily as points of demarcation; there are clear

demarcations at the end of each ritornello; the end of the Vordersatz in both choral

ritornelli serves as a high point of tension – especially in R3. Tension is maintained,

however, even in moments of comparative relaxation. Thus, the dynamics drop at the

beginning of each Fortspinnung; but Jochum preserves momentum by highlighting

inner strands in F1. The more homophonic F2 serves as a crescendo leading into the

Epilog, where the bass’s entry is emphasised in all three ritornelli (CD 2: 6 includes

E2 and R3 in their entirety).

19 A similar phenomenon occurs in Marriner’s First Kyrie, though it is less typical of his Mass as a whole.

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While several passages in Jochum’s performances can be regarded as “high

points” (the transition into R2,20 the beginnings of the Epilogs), the most highly

charged passage is in bars 81-112. The contrast between Jochum 1957 and Richter

1961 is revealing. Whilst Richter opens E2 with firm confidence, Jochum begins it

misterioso: the basses enter piano, partly submerged, veiled and barely shaped (after a

diminuendo in bar 80). The mists are only gradually lifted. The level of local activity

increases as the movement proceeds: other voices shape the subject more actively,

especially in dynamics. When the tension threatens to flag in bars 95-96 (which

feature more melodic flow and less strongly-pronounced cadences), Jochum brightens

the sonority and highlights the bass, with its more active melody. The first soprano’s

oft-submerged entry in bar 102 is clearly highlighted, but the crescendo continues to

mount afterwards. Only at the beginning of bar 112 – when harmonic resolution is

reached – does the performance attain a degree of relaxation.

Several other performances follow the same trajectory as Jochum (e.g.,

Scherchen 1950, 1959; Karajan 1952; Klemperer 1961, 1967; Rilling 1977, 1988,

1999; Giulini 1972, 1994), although they usually cover a narrower range of dynamics

and colours. Jochum’s 1980 recording projects the same shape with different means:

textures are clearer; the crescendo is more clearly subject-led; the dynamic range is

narrower; articulation is more varied and detailed. These changes might reflect

awareness of general developments in Bach performance between 1957 and 1980.

The firmer choral sound, smaller range and more meticulous articulation, however,

are also reminiscent of Klemperer 1967, who in turn was probably preserving some of

the lessons he learned from Ramin.

All the performances enumerated above seem to project a +/+ approach: they

discern a clear drive towards a climax (or a climactic area) in Bach’s score, and see it

as their interpretive prerogative (or obligation) to bring it out in performance. They

share several other characteristics: slow tempi; heavy textures; shaping more through

dynamics than through articulation. In most cases, the subject in E2 is treated as part

of the overall crescendo, not isolated from its surroundings (Scherchen and Maazel

are notable exceptions). Most of them do not attempt (or, at any rate, do not achieve) a

20 In 1957, this is marked by a clear (yet possibly coincidental) emphasis on the violins’ entries, following a clear rise in dynamics at the preceding bass entry. In 1980, the violins’ entry is not so strongly marked – but there is a clear forte from both first and second soprani (bars 48 and 50).

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high level of clarity; the most notable exception is Klemperer 1967, followed by

Giulini 1972 and Jochum (1957 and especially 1980).

Mauersberger, at the other extreme, presents an x/- approach to the movement’s

shape: he seems preoccupied with texture above all. It is harder to apply the x/- label

to Richter and Ramin: their forceful bass entries at the beginning of E2 constitute a

strong, intentional-sounding gesture – born, perhaps, out of an attempt to reconcile a

dramatic conception of the movement with a belief in terraced dynamics and a

suspicion of gradual build-up (see also Schweitzer 1911, I: 362-363). Nonetheless,

they largely share Mauersberger’s marginalization of shape in favour of texture.

In later performances related to this tradition – primarily Schreier 1991 and

Biller – there is a greater willingness to bring out the movement’s shape. Their

meticulously-separated phrases, however, impede the sense of flow, as does their

insistence on isolating and highlighting the subject. This latter tendency is especially

evident in Schreier 1991, where the alto, first soprano and second soprano entries in

E2 are preceded by diminuendi. Schreier thus retreats precisely where other

conductors use the à Ä | Öµ Öµ ± figure to intensify the crescendo.

Other performances feature a more subtle subject/non-subject distinction. In his

1977 version, Rilling – like several symphonic conductors – projects a continuous E2

crescendo, with no distinction between thematic materials. In 1988 and 1999 (CD 2:

46), however, most forward movement occurs on non-subject material (some of it

simultaneous with the subject), without halting the crescendo. Part of the explanation

is that the 1977 performance is dominated by dynamic modifications, whereas in 1988

and (especially) 1999, articulation plays a stronger role – especially within the

subject. It is still easier, however, to raise the overall dynamic level in legato

passages, which is how Rilling treats the à Ä | Öµ Öµ ± figure and stepwise passages even

in the 1999 version.

In general, the “symphonic” and “Lutheran” approaches to this movement are

largely concerned with projecting its grandeur and sublimity, and therefore focus on

overall effect, rather than local details. Even performances as strongly contrasted as

Jochum 1957 and Richter 1961 can still seem similar when compared to other

approaches, which in several different ways make this music less “larger-than-life”.

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7.3.2.3. The “beautiful” and the “secular”

The First Kyrie largely confirms the stereotype that Bach’s music has been

speeding up in recent decades – especially from the late 1960s to the early 1990s. This

seemingly supports the contention that modern performance is “leery of the sublime”

(see also p. 172 above). In the present context, one would expect this “leeriness” to be

realised through little attention to dramatic shaping, with no large-scale patterns of

tension and release.

This tendency can already be sensed in several pre-HIP performances, notably

Karajan 1974 and Münchinger. In both performances, the predominant articulation is

a seamless legato. Karajan’s dynamic range in this reading is considerably narrower

than in 1952 (p. 187 above). Since that reading was shaped almost exclusively by

dynamics, the result in 1974 is virtually featureless, except for a rise in volume and

intensity of sound in the transition into R2 (c. bar 48). Textures remain unclear, the

only distinct lines being those of the two soprani (doubled by the oboes).

Münchinger’s choral sonority is rougher than Karajan’s, but the performance is,

if anything, even more featureless. His tempo is considerably faster, with a barely

wider range of articulation and an even narrower range of dynamics. Both

performances make little or no attempt to underline the movement’s overall shape or

bring out more localised patterns of tension and relaxation. Instead, they seem to

project a sense of equable, peaceful flow.

Few HIP performances approach this extreme; the closest is perhaps is

Harnoncourt 1968, where sempre legato choral singing renders most vocal sections

near-featureless, despite detailed articulation in the orchestra. More common is the

tendency towards partial build-up – local patterns of ebb-and-flow, in which the entry

of R3 functions as a local point of arrival.21

When such an approach is connected with a fast tempo and a tripping, dance-

like articulation, the result might seem to actively undermine the movement’s

potential for grandeur and seriousness. This extreme is approached in Schreier 1982.

As I noted on p. 172 above, Schreier is not the only one to treat the subject in this

clipped manner. Others, however (e.g., Parrott, Koopman, Fasolis), use this

21 Corboz 1979 presents yet another option: a sudden, unprepared surge in dynamics in an otherwise calm, gently-underlined performance, towards an especially vivid climax at bar 102.

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articulation primarily in orchestral passages, phrasing vocal passages more

expansively; and this becomes even more apparent in section 2.

Parrott’s reading features a definite rise in tension at bar 92, culminating at bars

95-96 with no subsequent emphasis on bar 102. Koopman (CD 2: 38) retains a dance-

like lilt in the subject (and in the clearly-audible orchestral parts) even during E2,

albeit as echoing legato pairs, not through clipped articulation. His reading features

some local crescendi, but no sense of arrival at bar 102. After Schreier 1982, this is

probably the most light-hearted, non-monumental reading (Ozawa is another strong

contender); some would find it even lighter thanks to its more flowing, less insistently

accented articulation.

Joshua Rifkin’s performance (CD 2: 15) also features little or no sense of

overall build-up; but in his case, this is allied with a moderate tempo, and detailed yet

gentle instrumental articulation (discreetly-detached non legato, no sharp

accentuation). His singers employ a more consistently legato articulation, and a higher

degree of dynamic nuance (including a hint of crescendo in the Gradatio figure in

some subject statements).22 The textures are light (if only for the obvious technical

reason that Rifkin employs almost the smallest ensemble possible), but the overall

effect is not: it is contemplative, peaceful and introverted – a calm prayer reminiscent

of the image often associated with Renaissance sacred music (see also p. 140 above).

A similar effect is present in several other recordings, among them Leonhardt,

Christophers, Max, and Herreweghe 1988. These performances share a rounded

sonority, articulation ranging from legato to very gently articulated non legato; they

avoid strict uniformity, but do not overtly project the movement’s shape. Unlike

Rifkin, they underline bars 99-102 with a slight crescendo, but this is treated as a

gentle, local peak. The performance that most strongly resembles Rifkin’s is

Herreweghe’s: slightly faster and fuller in sonority, but featuring a similar roundness

and a comparatively narrow range of dynamics and articulation alike.

As I have already noted (see p. 175 above), Herreweghe’s 1996 performance

features the most distinct shaping of the Gradatio figure in the fugal subject, at least

in E1. This does not translate, however, to a clear trajectory for the movement as a

22 The 1997 Regensburg performance is largely similar, but features a higher degree of individualised phrasing and internal dialogue in the vocal parts.

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whole: it is difficult to deduce, from either of his recordings, where Herreweghe

believes the Confutatio is located (see p. 183 above).

Instead of a concentrated area of higher tension, Herreweghe 1996 (CD 2: 41)

features constant patterns of ebb-and-flow within sections, sometimes different ones

for different voices (projected primarily through dynamics). The beginning of R2 and

R3 are among the moments of higher tension, followed in each case by a subtle

relaxation at the beginning of the Fortspinnung. Disjunctions between simultaneous

phrase boundaries are clearly exposed – not least in E2, where the focus of attention

constantly shifts between different strands of the texture, and is usually drawn away

from the subject. The resulting performance is strongly directional on the level of

individual phrases, but does not project a clear overall trajectory for the movement as

a whole.

For a performance of this movement that realises Herreweghe’s stated ideals

(clear patterns of tension and contrast, vocal-led lyricism and conductorial restraint),

one might turn to René Jacobs’s recording (CD 2: 35). In this version, all ritornello

entries emerge as significant events, and the ritornelli themselves are shaped in an

analogous manner (compare with Jochum, p. 188 above): full sonority at Vordersatz;

relaxation at beginning of Fortspinnung (or towards end of Vordersatz); insistent

unanimity on F2; diminuendo conclusion for Fortspinnung; a fuller and calmer Epilog,

concluded with another diminuendo. With the exception of F2’s entries (bars 19, 62,

116), there are no sudden jolts: sections are clearly marked, yet connected and

prepared.

Jacobs builds up to a clear climax at bar 102. The crescendo only begins on the

alto entry in bar 88. Notwithstanding a slight diminuendo at bars 95-96, the overall

trajectory is clear from this point, and the first soprano’s entry (and its orchestral

doubling) in bar 102 is strongly highlighted – a gesture all the more marked by the

lack of emphasis on the subject in previous entries.

This dramatic gesture notwithstanding, the performance on the whole maintains

a peaceful atmosphere. Since all ritornelli end in diminuendo, heightened tension is

always followed by relaxation (in R3, there is also a diminuendo towards the

Vordersatz’s cadence, in bars 109-111). This is another feature that differentiates

Jacobs from the dramatic-organic performances described in the previous section (pp.

188ff), which usually end with a dramatically affirmative forte (cf. Jochum 1957, CD

2: 6).

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Other HIP conductors attempt something closer to this traditional shape, the

most prominent example being Richard Hickox (alongside Gardiner, Brüggen and J.

Thomas). Hickox’s version (CD 2: 31) differs from traditional performances in many

respects: more transparent texture, with greater orchestral prominence; faster tempo;

more detailed articulation; and more attention to metrical patterns (see p. 174n above).

However, Hickox demonstrates that these features can support the projection of the

traditional, single-arch shape. His approach combines “traditional” and “rhetorical”

features. On non-subject material, he combines crescendo and legato, particularly on

the à Ä | Öµ Öµ ± figure. However, he uses the insistent articulation on the subject

(especially the “Kyrie”), as well as the shaping of other voices, to ensure that tension

does not flag at any point. These lessons seem to filter back into modern instrument

recordings, notable examples being Rilling 1999 (CD 2: 46) and Abbado.

7.3.2.4. Undermining the monument

The First Kyrie in Harnoncourt 1986 seems, at first, to bear several hallmarks of

the monumental approach, at least compared to rival HIP recordings: slow tempo,

bass-heavy texture, larger-sounding choir. Several reviewers picked up on these

features (e.g., Anderson 1987, Woss 1987), while ignoring the point which seemed to

matter most to Harnoncourt, and which distances him most strongly from traditional

approaches – the “tug in the garment” figure (see pp. 170 and 176ff above).

Harnoncourt’s performance (CD 2: 25) is dominated by metric dissonances,

primarily outside the subject. Having established a clear metre, he brings out small

figures (often sostenuto fragments) which begin on a weak beat or between beats,

accenting their first notes. This usually occurs in just one or two strands, and therefore

rubs against more regular patterns elsewhere. In a sound stage of equal yet alternating

balance, this creates a hesitant, halting effect.

Harnoncourt appears to drive E2 towards a climax. However, this effect is

consistently compromised. The orchestral parts are shaped with much local detail,

creating a continuity between the end of the Interlude and the beginning of E2 and

maintaining the familiar pattern of metric dissonances. As the choir’s phrasing

becomes more distinct (the bass’s entry is partly submerged), more opportunities for

clashes emerge.

Within this context, the à Ä | Öµ Öµ ± figure provides occasional relief: Harnoncourt

phrases it legato, with less interference from other strands, allowing clearer local

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directionality. The subject itself, however, disrupts this. Finally, at bar 102,

Harnoncourt abruptly disrupts his crescendo with a subito piano for all but the first

soprano. This highlights the soprano’s entry, but frustrates the expectations created by

the previous build-up. Consequently, R3’s Vordersatz has to start its own build-up,

with all the attendant difficulties already referred to.

Harnoncourt, like Jacobs, concludes the First Kyrie with a diminuendo; in his

case, there is also a pause before the final note. But, where Jacobs’s diminuendo is

experienced as a gradual relaxation, Harnoncourt’s is experienced more as an

expression of exhaustion. The reasons are clear enough when one compares the level

of articulatory detail and accentuation in the two performances. The overall

impression in Harnoncourt’s case, beyond the “tug in the garment”, is of strands in the

texture pulling in opposite directions and disrupting each other’s flow (as well as their

own), of an upward-strive constantly frustrated by weakness and heaviness.

Hengelbrock’s performance (CD 2: 45) projects a similar interpretation, albeit

with different means. Hengelbrock describes this movement as an expression of

mourning: The combination of the individual musical elements (sighing motifs, funeral march rhythms, use of out-of-scale notes and large jumps, chromatically intensified exploitation of the thematic span up to the ninth etc.) decode this movement as a funeral chorus, an “actus tragicus” of unprecedented magnitude. (Hengelbrock 1997; cf. Schering 1936b: 10-11)

Hengelbrock’s emphasis on simultaneously-occurring elements is reflected in

his performance. He and Harnoncourt bring out many of the same figures.

Hengelbrock, however, employs longer stretches of legato, fewer and lighter

accentuations (thus facilitating flow, despite employing a slower tempo than any other

HIP conductor), and fewer metric dissonances (Hengelbrock’s local dynamic peaks

are usually located on strong beats).

In E2, Hengelbrock focuses attention on the choir. He brings out the subject’s

Gradatio, thereby facilitating clear directionality (although the à Ä | Öµ Öµ ± figure is still

the primary motivator in the crescendo). However, he clearly separates the Gradatio

from the lower sigh, creating an internal stop-and-go effect. His overall shape is an

intermittent crescendo similar to Jacobs’s and Jeffrey Thomas’s: a rise in dynamics in

bars 90-94 and 97-102 (esp. 99-102), with an interrupting relaxation in 95-96. The

soprano entry in 102 is clearly brought out, and gradual relaxation only commences at

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bar 108. The Fortspinnung is somewhat softer, F2 gently insistent. The final Epilog is

expansive (bars 120-123 dominated by an intermittent crescendo in the tenor), with a

diminuendo (and pause) in the last two bars.

Though more flowing than Harnoncourt’s, Hengelbrock’s reading is more

heavily accentuated than Jacobs, and his rendition of the E2 crescendo therefore

contains a greater degree of struggle. In performances like Hickox, Rilling 1999 and

Abbado (not to mention Karajan 1952 and Jochum 1957), one senses the arrival of the

climax as the dramatic yet inevitable culmination of a continuous striving upwards. In

Hengelbrock’s performance, the feeling is that the goal has been reached with

considerable strain and struggle. This, too, can be seen as a reflection of a more

humanised, less monumental and perfected Bach image.

7.4. Summary As one of Bach’s large-scale, complex movements, the First Kyrie could be

interpreted according to the more austere, objectivist images that have attached

themselves to his oeuvre in general, and his contrapuntal output in particular. On the

other hand, as the expression of a plea for mercy, and given its tense, chromatic

thematic material, it can also be interpreted in accordance with more subjective,

expressive views of his music. Given its magisterial proportions, it can be viewed as

imposingly monumental, or as demanding large-scale shaping; but given the tensions

inherent in its subject, the importance of localised shaping could also be declared

paramount.

All these options are reflected in the movement’s verbal reception. Performative

realisations cover an even wider spectrum: they also feature several lighter readings,

though these probably reflect an x/- philosophy of performance, rather than the view

that the movement itself is light or cheerful. Such readings could be cited by those

who claim that modernist performance, and particularly its HIP strand, is less willing

to explore the profounder aspects of music. In this chapter, I proposed a different

narrative: that HIP added to the repertoire of affects for this movement.

The larger-than-life, monumental approach is largely absent in the movement’s

recent discography. Many of the newer options can be related to the exploration of

more “humanised” images. The lightweight and the contemplative-lyrical approaches

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alike are more immediately engaging, less imposing, whereas the more struggle-

ridden approach undermines the perfected-monumental image. Knife-edge-balance

views of Bach’s polyphony have already been proposed in earlier decades by writers

like Kurth and Adorno, but their exploration in performance (at least in the Mass’s

discography) had to wait for the emergence of the rhetoric-as-semantics approach.

Rhetorical performance has also shed new light on the question of micro- vs.

macro-structuring. Mauersberger and Karajan (1952) represent two poles among

“traditional” approaches: Mauersberger focused on chiselling out local details at the

expense of a static reading of the whole, Karajan ignored local details in favour of

overall sweep. Others (e.g., Jochum and Klemperer) explored the use of textural

details to project forward momentum.

Here, too, HIP has expanded the options. Leonhardt and Herreweghe, for

example, demonstrate the option of forging local directionality and tension. A more

far-ranging approach is represented by Hickox’s combination of localised rhetorical

inflection with a “symphonic” build-up – and by Harnoncourt’s and Hengelbrock’s

use of localised detail to undermine, or at least question, a global sense of purpose.

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8. Archaism and Objectivity: Second Kyrie The Second Kyrie inspired a variety of contrasting interpretations. At one end of

this spectrum, one finds Spitta’s intensely dramatic description: As it is expressed in the first Kyrie, the elect people of God are crying to the Redeemer from the very first introduction of sin into the world. As the time of fulfilment draws nearer, their longing is more urgent and passionate; and to depict this is the aim of the short, agitated closing cry of Kyrie, almost desperate in some places (see the last nine bars). The beginning is epic, the close dramatic – if I may be allowed the terms. (Spitta 1889, III: 54)

Christoph Wolff stands at the opposite pole: the first Kyrie of the B Minor Mass, with its accent-laden and driving, modulatory theme, should be declaimed in a manner quite different from that to be applied to the second Kyrie, more dynamically and expressively. The second Kyrie knows no periodic accents of meter but moves, evenly flowing, from thesis to arsis in ever suspended mensural manner. (Wolff 1991: 101-102)

As in the First Kyrie, the range of performative interpretations is even wider

than that of critical interpretations.

8.1. Interpretations in theory

8.1.1. The Second Kyrie and the stile antico

The “inexpressive” strand in the Second Kyrie’s reception largely builds on its

association with the stile antico, a term designating Baroque music which emulates

Renaissance polyphony. In the 17th- and 18th-century, stile antico was sometimes

contrasted explicitly with the expressive character of more modern music (Wolff

1991: 85-88); it came to be associated with “Majestas and gravitas, grandeur and

seriousness”, and was considered especially appropriate for “liturgical texts far

removed from the sphere of subjectivity” (ibid: 102-103; see also 1968: 135-137).

The stile antico is particularly associated with Palestrina, whose rules of

composition reflect contemporaneous demands for expressive restraint (Jeppesen

1992: 23-24). His music was subsequently presented, from the 17th century to the

present, as a model for calm, perfected equilibrium. His rules of composition have

been compared to “the rules that guide musical factors in unexcited speech” (Cohen

1971: 108) in various cultures, and even in some non-human forms of communication

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(Cohen 1983). In this view, Palestrina’s music should appear tranquil and peaceful

even to listeners who would not recognise its historical provenance.1

This image has been criticised for relying on a selective view of Palestrina’s

style and repertoire (Garratt 2002: 2-3; Lockwood et al. 2003: §11) and for failing to

take the effect of performance into account. There is evidence to suggest that this

music might have originally been performed with improvised ornaments, which

would have partly obviated the careful handling of dissonance and voice-leading on

which the music’s balanced character depends (Butt 2002a: 118-121; see also Garratt

2002: 70-71). Even in literal renderings, performers could inject greater expression

than a score-analysis would suggest.

The picture is further complicated in the context of stile antico. The term does

not refer to Renaissance polyphony itself, but rather to 17th- and 18th-century attempts

to emulate it; stile antico is a Baroque phenomenon. Christoph Wolff proposes strict

criteria for this style, insisting on a distinction between Alla-breve movements, which

“represent a mixture of old and new styles” (1991: 92-93), and purely antico pieces.

Such distinctions are moot, given the absence of a clear 18th-century definition of stile

antico (Miller 2003). This has encouraged Alberto Basso (in Boyd 1999: 469) to

adopt less stringent criteria for stile antico, allowing him to subsume music with

striking, distinctly non-Palestrinian harmonies under that heading. This broad

definition, however, makes the link between stile antico and expressive restraint even

more tenuous.

For Christoph Wolff, that link is paramount, and is of particular relevance to the

Second Kyrie, which in his view represents the stile antico in its purest form (1991:

92-93; cf. Parry 1909: 311; Tovey 1937: 28; Blankenburg 1974: 30-31; Buelow

1981a: 29; Brolinson 1992: 9; King 1997: 6). Other commentators, however, are

sceptical of this mono-stylistic view (Herz 1985: 173; Arnold 1985: 29; Butt 1991:

80; Leaver 1998: 4), and suggest that this movement incorporates “elements of

Baroque emotionalism” (Stauffer 1997b: 62; see also Garratt 2002: 80).

The Second Kyrie’s antico features are primarily rhythmic, melodic and

textural. It is in alla-breve metre, featuring the crotchet as the smallest rhythmic

value. There are few accents, syncopations and distinct rhetorical figurations (see, 1 For Cohen’s view on the interaction between cognitive and cultural constraints in musical perception, which informs her views on Palestrina’s style, see Cohen and Mondry 2000, Cohen 2003. For a broader perspective on the embodiment or denotation of expressive features in musical styles, see Treitler 1997.

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however, p. 201 below). The vocal parts employ mostly stepwise motion, with few

leaps larger than a third, especially within phrases. The texture is dense and imitative,

with few episodes for less than three voices. The scoring is colla parte, though the

continuo part is often independent. Indeed, as often happens in stile antico

movements, the Second Kyrie’s continuo part features passages of “incessant, moto

perpetuo-like ± motion”, calling for “a persistent détaché articulation, totally foreign

to the Palestrina style” (Abravaya 1999: 38).

Harmonic considerations further undermine the movement’s pure antico

classification. The movement contains several tense, chromatic passages; tonal

stability and predictability are repeatedly questioned. These features arguably

contradict both the tenets of the stile antico (in its stricter definitions) and the calm,

objective expression associated with it.

8.1.2. Thematic materials and structural divisions

The two main thematic materials in the Second Kyrie are the fugal subject and

what I will term the “subsidiary theme” (“Seitenthema”; Wolff 1968: 95):

Example 8.1: Second Kyrie, bars 1-3 (fugal subject)

Example 8.2: Second Kyrie, bars 31-33 (subsidiary theme)

The latter emerges half-way through the movement, and serves as the basis for

three stretto episodes (bars 31-34, 43-45 and 51-53). However, it is already hinted at

during the first half (e.g.,. tenor part, bars 13-14 and 22-23). For some writers, the two

themes represent the movement’s expressive poles; Schweitzer, for example, contrasts

the subject’s “tranquillity” with the subsidiary theme’s “animated” and “ardent”

character (1911, II: 315). Others emphasise the emotive contrast between the two

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movement’s halves, suggesting that the second half’s more agitated character

encompasses the treatment of the subject and of the subsidiary theme alike (cf. Bitter

1865, II: 144-145; Dickinson 1950: 192; Rilling 1984: 13).2

Two factors mark the subsidiary theme as more agitated: its consistently

syncopated entries, and its modulatory character. The off-beat syncopation is

inconsistent with the rules of Palestrinian counterpoint.3 More importantly, it

constitutes a departure from the ostensibly objective character of stile antico (at least

in its stricter definitions), its demand that “[e]verything which might have a stiff and

abrupt effect must be avoided” (Jeppesen 1992: 135), and its rounded rhythmic

contours (cf. Wolff 1991: 99-100; Butt 1991: 78-79). The fact that the syncopation

occurs at the theme’s melodic peak strengthens its “modern” effect, as it intensifies

the climactic emphasis on a note which, being off-beat, would not have been

emphasised in old-style polyphony (cf. Cohen 1971: 101; Jeppesen 1992: 94-97).

The theme is harmonically open-ended, articulating a dominant-tonic

progression. Its modulatory character is enhanced by the fact that it always appears in

stretto imitation, with each entry a fifth away from its predecessor. Consequently,

each entry pushes the music forward in the cycle of fifths.

Kurth points that most thematic dissolution takes places during fugal episodes;

the subsidiary theme, however, appears in three canonic expositions. Thiele (1936:

110-111) therefore views Bach’s treatment of the subsidiary theme as almost

paradoxical: what begins as a dissolution of the subject (bars 15-16) is subsequently

treated almost as a subject in its own right, its unsettling character intensified when it

is awarded the thematic enforcement of strict imitation.

These elements contrast markedly with the fugal subject’s character. In its

almost purely stepwise motion, arch-like melodic construction, mensural rhythmic

construction, narrow range and clear articulation of the tonic, this subject reflects the

melodic style of late Renaissance polyphony. Its tonic stability is questioned when it

2 Thiele (1936: 185) suggests a different division, with bar 35 as the point of demarcation. In terms of audible shape, there is some logic in this: the bass’s statement of the subsidiary theme in bar 31 is seamlessly integrated into the preceding fugal exposition, whereas in mid-35, there is something approaching a definite cadence. Thiele also presents the first part as containing more internal contrasts, especially in terms of sonority (the clear presence or absence of the bass) – whereas the second part is more continuous, but also denser and with rising intensity. 3 “The note of least value to be syncopated with another note of equal value is the half note. Therefore a quarter note cannot be tied to a quarter” (Jeppesen 1992: 141).

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is brought in canon against itself (bars 35-38, 40-43, 54-57), articulating different

tonalities simultaneously; but these canons occur in the latter half of the movement –

another argument for a bipartite division.

The subject itself, however, already features a chromatic inflection which is

inconsistent with its otherwise Palestrinian inspiration, associating it instead with the

late 17th-century Neapolitan school. Christoph Wolff considers this an incidental

feature, an expressive inflection which has precedents in early 17th-century “old style”

compositions like Frescobaldi’s (1968: 60; cf. Butt 1991: 80). He further cites this

inflection as the only expressive device in an otherwise calm, “objective” movement

(Wolff 1968: 139).

Helmuth Rilling, by contrast, describes the introduction of a Neapolitan sixth-

chord as destructive to tonal order (1984: 12). Within the movement as a whole,

Rilling traces a process of “gradual intensification” (ibid: 14): hints of greater

intensity in bars 18-29 lead to the entrance of “three choral fugatos” on the subsidiary

theme, which “break up the previous strictness and austerity of structure”, and

eventually “break into jubilation with the high, syncopated fugato entrances of the

four voices” (ibid: 13).

Spitta (quoted on p. 198 above) clearly regards “the last nine bars”, starting at

the last of these stretti (bars 51-54), as the movement’s dramatic climax (see also

Emery 1954; Mellers 1980: 175-176; Stauffer 1997b: 64). The subsidiary theme’s

tense character is enhanced here by the unexpected chromatic modulation, placed at a

melodic peak and weakly supported by a high-lying continuo line. The soprano’s high

A, which upon entry was still a tonic note, becomes, in retrospect, a Neapolitan

flattened supertonic in G# minor, the latter key being the first part of a modulatory

chain. The tension gradually subsides, with final resolution reached only after the

final, canonic statement of the subject.

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8.2. Interpretations in practice As summarised above, there are three major tropes in discussions of Second

Kyrie. The first regards it as calm, objective and archaic. The second views it as

passionate and tormented. The third views it as balancing the two elements. All three

tropes can be traced in the Second Kyrie’s performative reception on record.

8.2.1. Stile antico readings

Christoph Wolff stated that, in performing the two settings of the Kyrie,

performers must take the “stylistic-musical contrast” between them into account, “if

one is not to misrepresent the composer’s intentions” (1991: 102; see also p. 198

above). This statement implies that, in Wolff’s view, many conductors have

approached the Second Kyrie too “dynamically and expressively”. The recorded

evidence, however, suggests that the style advocated by Wolff was predominant in the

late 1960s, when he expressed these views;4 performances that diverge from his

prescription mostly date from the 1980s and 1990s. Even within this spectrum,

however, there exists a variety of approaches.

8.2.1.1. Monumental objectivism

The two conductors who present the characteristics of grandeur and objectivity

most prominently are Eugen Jochum (CD 3: 1) and Otto Klemperer. Both conductors

employ slow tempi,5 and maintain them with near-metronomic rigidity. Dynamics are

consistently loud (mezzo-forte to forte), with almost no inflections within phrases.

There are almost no distinctions between sections or thematic materials. The overall

impression is of a grand, monumental reading, with little interpretive intervention

beyond setting the initial parameters and guaranteeing textural clarity.

Strictness also affects the perception of articulation. These recordings (with the

exception of Jochum 1980) mostly employ a continuous legato. Rigidity in other

parameters, however, creates the kind of harshness usually associated with aggressive

marcati. With both conductors, this is more apparent in the later recording; in their

earlier versions, a higher degree of dynamic nuance creates a more flexible effect. 4 The quotation is from a lecture originally delivered in 1967 (Wolff 1991: 406). 5 Jochum 1980 is considerably faster than the other three (MM ° = 72, as opposed to 63 in his earlier recording, 58 in Klemperer 1961 and 60 in Klemperer 1967), but the monumental effect is maintained – even intensified – due to weightier sonority and articulation, and uniform dynamics.

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Performances from the Saxon school (Mauersberger, Ramin, K. Thomas)

predictably adopt a similar approach. Mauersberger’s version (CD 3: 2), in particular,

frequently employs marcato articulation. One can observe some differentiation

between phrases,6 but internally, each phrase retains an almost statuesque quality (see

also p. 207 below).

This approach is not, however, specific to the Second Kyrie, but rather emerges

as another example of the performances’ overall style. The idea that stile antico

movements should be treated more objectively than “modern”, affective ones is more

apparent in Jochum’s and Klemperer’s versions, which set static renderings of the two

stile antico fugues – the Second Kyrie and Gratias – against more flexible

performances of other movements, particularly the First Kyrie (cf. p. 188 above).

8.2.1.2. Lyricism and contemplation

The harshly-monumental approach is not the only one consistent with a stile

antico interpretation; many performances of Renaissance polyphony (at least from the

last 30 years) tend to be flowing and lyrical, rather than harsh and insistent. A similar

approach can be found in many recordings of the Second Kyrie. These performances

share several characteristics with the monumental approach, most notably the absence

of internal contrasts. Most of them also feature moderate to slow tempi. However, I

also include under this heading several readings which approach the fastest on record,

yet maintain an unhurried effect through the employment of rounded sonority and

phrasing. What distinguishes the “lyrical” from the “monumental” is the former’s

preference for quieter dynamics, softer vocal timbre, and greater nuances of

dynamics, phrasing and tempo – resulting in a more flowing, flexible effect.

The lines of demarcation are not always clear; as I note on p. 207 below, some

performances alternate between the two modes. Among pre-1980 recordings, the most

consistently lyrical is probably Shaw 1960: featuring a similar tempo to the

monumental readings, it is notable for its wider dynamic range – realised in gradual

changes, not sudden contrasts – and an almost complete avoidance of non legato

6 For example, the first canon (bars 35-38) is given at a slightly slower tempo. However, this and other tempo modifications sound more like gearshifts than gradual changes; one is tempted to ascribe some of them to editing.

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articulation, except in the last three bars.7 Karajan 1952 features a fast tempo, but this

is balanced by legato articulation (except for the occasional use of aspiration), and

soft dynamics and timbre.

The lyrical approach is more prevalent, however, in post-1980 HIP versions.

Leonhardt’s version (CD 3: 7) stands out as the closest to the “monumentalists’”

tempo. However, his texture is lighter, and his phrasing more varied.8 There are no

heavy, marcato accentuations; the continuo line is played with gently-articulated non

legato, while choral phrasing mostly consists of short, gently-separated legati. His

mezzo-piano contrasts markedly with the forte in Klemperer’s (esp. 1967) and

Jochum’s (esp. 1980) versions. All three conductors, however, treat their respective

dynamics with internal consistency.

Other performances place a greater emphasis on flow. Frans Brüggen’s reading

begins in a monumental manner, but for the most part combines restrained dynamics

with clear local directionality, supported by nuances in timbre and phrasing (similar

characteristics apply with Max, Christophers, Fasolis9 and Pearlman, among others).

Other readings employ a narrower dynamic range, and achieve clarity and variety

mainly through phrasing and articulation (e.g., Rifkin 1982 [CD 3: 5], Herreweghe

1988, Eby, King, Koopman). In all these performances, the tranquil sense of motion

usually associated with stile antico is clearly evident. Parrott’s performance (CD 3: 6),

with its near-static dynamics and almost consistently legato articulation, approaches

the rigidity of the monumental approach, albeit without the latter’s heavy sonorities

and insistent forte.

In most of these cases, the treatment of the Second Kyrie is not fundamentally

different from that of the Gratias. In some cases (e.g., Koopman, Parrott, Brüggen),10

the contemplative treatment of these movements contrasts with a more incisive,

7 Shaw’s 1947 performance is harsher and less flexible. Shaw 1990 is similar to Shaw 1960 in most parameters, featuring superior textural clarity and a smaller dynamic range. 8 A less varied approach to phrasing creates a more static impression, and less clarity, in Shaw 1947, Münchinger and Marriner. None of these, however, features the deliberate starkness of the readings I classified as “monumental”. 9 Fasolis singles out the canonic expositions of the subject in the second part for harsher treatment, in articulation and dynamics alike. 10 Brüggen, however, differentiates between the Gratias and the Dona nobis, employing a slower tempo and a wider dynamic range in the latter.

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sharply-articulated approach elsewhere. In others (Rifkin, Leonhardt, Herreweghe

1988), the Second Kyrie is “of a piece” with the rest of the performance. This is

especially true in Rifkin’s case. Within Leonhardt’s and Herreweghe’s performances,

the Second Kyrie and Gratias feature fewer accentuations and more rounded

articulation than other movements (compare, for instance, Leonhardt’s Second Kyrie

with his Qui tollis and Crucifixus), but in the context of performances which generally

avoid staccato or sharply-incisive articulation, the difference is subtler than in Parrott

or Koopman.

8.2.2. “Mixed” readings

The next category includes recordings which draw the listener’s attention to the

more agitated elements in the music, while retaining some of its more relaxed

characteristics. As I noted earlier, some critical interpretations focus on the dichotomy

between different materials and sections, while others describe the movement’s

internal tensions as present throughout. A similar distinction can be drawn among

those performances that display a more polyvalent approach.

8.2.2.1. Contrastive renditions

Some performances draw a clear distinction between subject and subsidiary

theme, and consequently between the first and second half of the movement. They

often employ a slow tempo, and start in a fairly tranquil, peaceful fashion, and

introduce the more agitated elements only when the subsidiary theme enters in bar 31.

Such thematic distinctions do not necessarily enhance tension. Hermann

Scherchen, in both recordings, highlights each appearance of the subject,11 treating all

other materials more flexibly and, for the most part, in softer dynamics (compare with

Solti’s rendition of the First Kyrie, p. 185 above).12 Even with this emphasis on the

subject, Scherchen’s reading remains within the lyrical-contemplative approach.

However, when the subsidiary theme is differentiated from the subject and other

materials alike, its arrival can register as a moment of special significance (especially

11 Scherchen 1950 applies this effect more strictly and consistently. In the 1959 version, there is more variety; in particular, the rigid treatment of the subject in the alto-tenor canon (bars 35-38) contrasts markedly with the crescendo in the soprano-bass canon (bars 40-43). 12 Solti’s Second Kyrie is mostly in the lyrical-contemplative mode, except for a sudden rise to forte towards the end of the movement.

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if preliminary “hints” of that theme are not brought out). This is sometimes achieved

through a juxtaposition of “monumental” and “lyrical” modes. Thus, Enescu treats the

subject in a harsh, majestic manner, softening considerably when the subsidiary theme

enters. Ramin, Richter (especially in 1961) and Maazel apply the reverse approach –

lyrical subject, harsher subsidiary theme. Both approaches project the subsidiary

theme’s stretto episodes as unique events in otherwise uniform surrounding. Indeed, it

seems at first that the contrast is between themes rather than sections.

Richter’s studio reading (CD 3: 3) might not seem flexible in itself: the

movement’s first section veers between legato and aspirative emphases in a narrow

dynamic range. Nonetheless, the subsidiary theme’s entry in bar 31 registers as a

departure: dynamics are louder, note-by-note accentuations become more insistent

and aggressive. This effect is retained in the theme’s subsequent appearances. The

subject’s first appearance in the second half (the alto-tenor canon in bars 35-38)

returns to the softer dynamics and phrasing of the first half. However, the soprano-

bass canon in bars 40-43 is more agitated, and leads up to an almost militaristic

conclusion, in which the subject acquires the subsidiary theme’s harsher character. Of

the two conflicting characteristics that Thiele observed in these episodes – the theme’s

inherent instability and its strictly imitative presentation (see p. 201 above) – Richter

strongly articulates the latter feature while virtually negating the former, rendering the

subsidiary theme especially harsh and immobile.

The 1969 live performance is more integrated (louder dynamics throughout,

more consistently legato articulation); a slight articulatory emphasis on the subsidiary

theme’s first appearance notwithstanding, this reading largely resembles more

uniformly “monumental” readings. Richter’s approach in both recordings (the video

version is closer to the 1961 performance) is in keeping with his general aesthetics. In

the 1961 and video versions, the Second Kyrie is “of a piece” with the rest of the

performance; in the 1969 Japan version, it stands out as somewhat more static.

In his book, Rilling (1984: 14) proposes a distinction between sections, rather

than themes: a relatively peaceful rendering of the movement’s first half should be

followed by an increasingly intense treatment of the second half, leading towards a

climax at bars 51-52. In 1977 (CD 3: 4), this developmental approach is only hinted

at: the second half is treated with more insistent articulation and louder dynamics, but

each half is internally uniform.

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The 1988 performance follows a similar outline, albeit with more dynamic

flexibility which enhances local directionality and textural clarity. It is also the only

performance in which Rilling realises, right from the outset, his recommendation to

isolate the diminished-third “Kyrie” figure from the rest of the subject through

“decisive and weighty articulation” (1984: 14).

In 1999 (CD 3: 13), Rilling applies a more continuous, graded strategy, which is

more consistent with his analysis of the movement: the subsidiary theme’s entry

registers as a “point of departure for an intensification”, rather than as a climax in its

own right. The performance begins with lyrical parameters: Rilling initially avoids

marcato articulation in the subject’s opening phrase, reserving this effect for the

canons in the second half. The performance gradually acquires a harsher tone,

leading to a climax at bar 51. This constitutes a definite departure from the “terraced”

ideal; the more continuous approach is, however, reserved primarily for the second

half, which is why I still discuss this performance under the “contrastive” heading.

Other performances converge on a similar view, realising several of Rilling’s

specific suggestions. Gardiner, for example, observes the “Kyrie/eleison” distinction

in the subject more consistently than Rilling has ever done (at least on record). His

initial shaping of the subject is reminiscent of harsher, “monumental” readings: the

“Kyrie” is articulated marcato; the “eleison” melismas, though internally legato, are

sharply separated. As the movement proceeds, he alternates between “monumental”

and “lyrical” modes. These sometimes occur simultaneously: in bars 28-30, for

example, the bass’s rising chromatic figure is highlighted with an evenly-accented

marcato, while other parts are shaped with a more continuous legato crescendo.

Gardiner’s rendition also differs from the performances discussed above in

drawing attention to more “disturbing” elements from the outset: he accentuates the

instrumental bass’s syncopation in bars 1 and 3, and highlights pre-echoes of the

subsidiary theme (e.g., tenor, bars 22-24). His performance does, however, articulate

the basic shape advocated by Rilling. In the canonic exposition in bars 35-38, he

performs the subject piano and legato;13 this serves as the beginning of a prolonged

crescendo: a harsh, marcato reading of the bars 48-50 leads into a strident, forte

climax in bar 51 and, subsequently, to a forceful, assertive conclusion.

13 In a later performance (at the 1989 Proms), he gives this passage to soloists – the only departure in an otherwise fully choral rendition of this movement.

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8.2.2.2. Continuous renditions

Gardiner’s reading features definite points of demarcation, broadly projecting a

two-part division.14 However, in introducing strident elements in the first part, it

suggests an alternative, more continuous view. Other performances pursue this option

more consistently.

In some cases, the result is a slight intensification of a basically lyrical-

contemplative performance. For example, René Jacobs (CD 3: 11) employs the same

tempo as Leonhardt (see p. 205 above), and his basic parameters are similar: soft

dynamics; short, gently-separated legati. The basis of the texture – the continuo line –

is mostly played legato, as opposed to Leonhardt’s discreet non legato. Jacobs’s

dynamic range, however, is wider than Leonhardt’s.

Leonhardt’s reading is consistently serene. Jacobs projects a largely similar

vision – but he occasionally introduces subtle disruptions, departing, if only

momentarily, from a generally peaceful atmosphere. The most notable examples are

the rising chromaticism in bars 28-29, and the climax at bars 51-54. The former is

treated as the start of a crescendo,15 leading into the tenor entry and the subsequent

introduction of the subsidiary theme. This crescendo begins with a subito piano: the

entire phrase constitutes a move away from, and back to, the prevailing mezzo forte.

This also means that, although the subsidiary theme is clearly articulated, its arrival

does not register as a point of demarcation.

The climax is also carefully prepared. The sequence of the soprano-alto canon

and the second stretto exposition of the subsidiary theme (bars 41-46) had been

another subtle crescendo. Maintaining the resulting mezzo-forte as the starting point

for a crescendo would have resulted in a distinctive dynamic peak at bar 51 (cf.

Gardiner, p. 208 above, and Hickox, p. 211 below). In a seemingly deliberate effort to

avoid this, Jacobs introduces a subito piano at mid-bar 47 (over the tenor’s

highlighted “eleison”), which is maintained until bar 51. This allows the soprano’s

sudden mezzo-forte entry to ring out against its immediate surroundings. Louder

14 Michel Corboz (1979) gives the movement a similar shape (crescendo in 27-30 leading into the introduction of the subsidiary theme, followed by a softening at the alto-tenor canon leading into a continuous crescendo up to bar 51). However, he achieves this at a slower tempo, and almost exclusively through dynamics (articulation remains legato almost throughout, and phrases are gently and discreetly separated from each other), thereby creating a more continuous and lyrical impression than Gardiner. 15 There is no similar crescendo when the same figure occurs earlier, in bars 17-18.

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dynamics are maintained in the subsequent stretti, but in the upbeat to bar 58 Jacobs

introduces another subito piano, allowing the movement to end with relative calm.

Thomas Hengelbrock (CD 3: 12) takes this intensification of the lyrical

approach a stage further. Although his overall dynamic range is similar to Jacobs’s,

the rate of dynamic change is higher: Hengelbrock frequently applies a moderate form

of directional wave dynamics, rising and falling with the melodic contours of the

phrase. This is allied with the use of accents and messe di voce to emphasise

suspension and syncopated entries. There are several consequences to this:

1. Individual voices become less stable, more apparently erratic;

2. Interaction between the voices becomes more vivid; the listener can sense

when voices move in parallel or in opposite directions,16 and when the start

of a phrase in one voice overlaps with mid-phrase in another.

3. Clashes between voices become more clearly audible.

Hengelbrock divides the subject into three legato segments. The “Kyrie” is

relatively static. The two “eleison” melismas, however, display distinctive dynamic

contours. Though clearly separated, they nonetheless form a single unit through

dynamics.

Example 8.3: Second Kyrie, bars 1-3; Hengelbrock (CD 3: 12)

In the subject’s third phrase, Hengelbrock stresses the anacrusis-to-downbeat

(“e-lei”). Similar emphases on syncopations and anacrusis-to-downbeat patterns occur

throughout the movement. This usually generates subtle momentum in one or two

strands in the texture, in conjunction with more tranquil movement in others.

Hengelbrock’s overall shaping of the movement is similar to Jacobs’; his

articulation of the climax at bar 51, however, is more distinct, and he does not reduce

intensity in the last three bars. The slow tempo and avoidance of sharp articulation

16 This effect is also evident in the soprano/bass interaction in Herreweghe 1996, bars 25-26.

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prevent this performance from acquiring a dramatic character, but the unceasing

dynamic inflections contribute to a sense of restlessness.

Philippe Herreweghe (1996) also applies dynamic fluctuations generously, but

in a more generic manner. There is no privileging of the transition into the second

half, or of the climax; there are also no specific emphases on rhythmic dislocations, as

in Hengelbrock’s (and others’) drawing out of syncopations. His articulation is more

consistently legato than in 1988; consequently, phrase boundaries are not always

clearly distinct. Instead, most of his fluctuations occur on melismas in mid-phrase,

creating a sense of movement but not highlighting the independence of lines. This

gives his performance a more peaceful character than Jacobs’s and (especially)

Hengelbrock’s, despite Herreweghe’s faster tempo and constant fluctuations.

Dynamic fluctuations are, however, further intensified when allied with a wider

range of articulation, and when applied to the continuo line as well as to the vocal

parts. This is clearly illustrated in Richard Hickox’s performance (CD 3: 9). Like

Gardiner (p. 208 above), Hickox combines marcato and legato articulation from the

first statement of the subject onwards; but there are very few moments of near-

homophonic solidity in Hickox’s version. His marcati never extend to the entire

texture, and are not as heavily emphasised as Gardiner’s.

Hickox’s shaping of the movement is reminiscent of Gardiner and Rilling 1999:

all three strive towards a peak of dynamics and intensity in bar 51, and maintain this

intensity right through to the end of the movement (avoiding Jacobs’s sense of

relaxation). Hickox, however, projects this shape more continuously. This arises, in

part, from his highlighting of the subsidiary theme’s more tentative appearances in the

first half (bars 7-10 in the continuo,17 bars 22-24 in the tenor). These appearances

clash with other parts in the texture, creating a sense of tension.

The clear articulation of the continuo line also allows for greater enhancement

of tension. This is partly thanks to his use of the “inimitably crisp attack” (Dreyfus

1987: 70) of a harpsichord, which is more audible and distinct than the more common

organ continuo, making it easier for listeners to notice those passages where the

instrumental and vocal bass lines are independent. In bar 1, for example, vocal and

instrumental bass are phrased with independent dynamic contours, and the latter’s

17 Harpsichordist Alastair Ross’s arpeggiation draws attention to the first notes of the hinted theme (F-sharp in bar 7, E in bar 9).

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syncopation is clearly accented. Thus, attention is drawn to the “Neapolitan sixth

chord”, and its role as “a purely Baroque ‘jolt’ that energizes the line and propels it

forward” (Stauffer 1997b: 63).18

Example 8.4: Second Kyrie, bars 1-3; Hickox (CD 3: 9)

Hickox combines a continuous approach with clear distinctions between the

thematic materials: for all the accumulated tension in the first half, the second half

still emerges as tenser and more condensed. The subsidiary theme’s modulatory stretti

are highlighted by sforzandi on the opening syncopations, further enhanced by

agitated wave dynamics. Hickox also makes a clear, hierarchic differentiation

between the theme’s expositions, treating the second stretto more calmly and

reserving the most powerful rendition (in both senses) for the third stretto. The

soprano’s entry in bar 51 is probably the loudest and sharpest moment in this

performance. Hickox maintains a tense forte throughout this last stretto, which

continues into the movement’s remaining bars.

In sum, Hickox’s Second Kyrie, like his First Kyrie (p. 193 above), combines

constant local fluctuations with an organic-dramatic shaping of the entire movement.

The contrast with Jacobs is instructive. Hickox precedes the first two stretti by

diminuendi and a softening of the vocal timbre, allowing greater impact for the

sforzandi. Jacobs, on the other hand, places his diminuendi earlier to create a

crescendo that would encompass the (comparatively unaccented) subsidiary theme

and absorb it into a larger unit. The reverse happens towards the climax, which is

preceded by a diminuendo in Jacobs (see p. 209 above) and a crescendo in Hickox.

18 Harpsichordist Alastair Ross further emphasises his line’s rhythmic contours by playing, in this case, in block chords rather than arpeggios. Another place where block chords clearly enhance latent tension is the alto-tenor canon in bars 35-38. At this juncture, the continuo wavers between the two competing tonalities presented by the two voices. This hesitation is highlighted by its stop-and-go rhythms, which are brought to the fore by Ross’s stark rendition.

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Both performances single out the climax for special treatment; but they seem to be

approaching the same goal from opposite ends.

8.2.3. Dramatic readings

Even Hickox’s reading, for all its drama, seems balanced between the “ancient”

and “modern”, or “tranquil” and “tense”, elements in this movement. There are very

few recordings that could be cited as aural corollaries to Spitta’s conception of this

movement as predominantly dramatic, almost desperate (p. 198 above). The only

obvious examples are Somary, Schreier 1982, Harnoncourt 1986, Ortner, Radu (the

fastest on record) and Jeffrey Thomas.

Though all these recordings share a fast tempo (MM ° = 88 to ° = 120), this

factor alone does not ensure a dramatic character. Harnoncourt’s two recordings are

virtually identical in tempo, but the 1968 version exhibits almost total uniformity in

dynamics, timbre and phrasing: in this predominantly choral movement, it is possible

that the phrasing came from Gillesberger rather than Harnoncourt, though the latter

does not take advantage of his position as member of the continuo team to inject more

detail into that strand of the texture. In his notes to that recording, Harnoncourt

described this movement as an example of prima pratica writing (1968: 11, reprinted

1989: 191); his uninflected performance might well reflect this belief.

Schreier (1982), Jeffrey Thomas (CD 3: 10) and Radu alternate between the

strongly dramatic and the uninflected. Each of these recordings opens with an

arresting gesture, but features uniform phrasing and dynamics in later parts. Schreier

starts forte and drops to a subito piano on the third note (the bass’s E-sharp). Radu

phrases the “Kyrie” with a distinctive, hushed staccato, which mostly continues into

the rest of the subject. Thomas begins quietly and legato, but performs a wide

crescendo-diminuendo on the “eleison” melismas. After these opening gestures,

however, Schreier’s choir frequently switches to uniform, harshly-aspirative

articulation, which continues to alternate with more flexibly-shaped phrases.19 Radu’s

performance features a low dynamic range; legato phrases sound especially static.

Thomas’s is more active, but still displays little inclination towards overall shaping:

19 Schreier 1991 features a similar opening gesture, but on a much narrower dynamic scale. The performance on the whole is more flowing, with less aspiration, more legato and greater dynamic flexibility. It sounds more expansive, though in fact the two readings feature a nearly identical tempo.

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the articulation is mostly legato (the subsidiary theme is only mildly accentuated), and

several passages are barely inflected (e.g., the first subsidiary theme exposition).

Ortner’s performance is more consistently active, with almost constant

employment of wave dynamics. The range of articulation, however, is relatively

narrow: other than a marcato shaping of the “Kyrie” and the accentuation of the

subsidiary theme’s opening syncopation, the articulation is mostly legato. As in

Herreweghe 1996, there is little sense of shaping beyond phrase boundaries. This is

partly the result of undifferentiated articulation.

Compared to other performances in its tempo bracket (with the exception of his

own earlier version), Harnoncourt 1986 (CD 3: 8) initially seems the least dramatic: it

begins quietly, legato and with little dynamic inflection. However, the level of activity

rapidly increases from the tenor entry onwards. Once he reaches his first dynamic

peak – at the soprano entry in bar 11 – Harnoncourt maintains a constant level of

activity and restlessness.20

In one respect, this movement stands out as an exception within the recording as

a whole: it is constantly pushed forward, with few (if any) examples of Harnoncourt’s

tendency to draw the music backwards. Harnoncourt does, however, accentuate many

of the syncopations. He only regains the opening piano in the last two measures; and

before this, he reaches two more distinct dynamic peaks, at the second and third stretti

(bars 43ff and 51ff),21 allied with the expected sforzando/marcato emphasis on the

subsidiary theme’s opening syncopation. The movement closes with another dramatic

gesture – a molto ritardando (and diminuendo) towards the end of the penultimate

bar. In other performances (e.g., Jacobs), gradual descent creates a tranquil ending;

here, this effect is undermined by Harnoncourt’s abruptness.

20 Hickox avoids reaching a dynamic peak at this point by making a subtle diminuendo towards bar 11; he delays his first dynamic peak until the bass’s re-entry on the fugal subject in bar 25, and reserving the most dramatic gestures to the latter half of the movement. This careful grading of tension is one of the main features which led to my classification of Hickox’s version among the “synthetic” rather than straightforwardly “dramatic” readings. 21 The latter arguably sounds less like a climax in this performance, not sufficiently differentiated from the previous “chain”; compare especially with the way it is prepared by Hickox and Jacobs.

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8.3. Summary At the beginning of the period under examination, the Second Kyrie was treated

in a manner consistent with Wolff’s stile antico prescription: even conductors who

approached the “romantic” view in other movements usually treated this chorus (and

other antico movements) in a stricter, less dynamically inflected manner.

However, the “mixed” and “dramatic” views were already prominently

enshrined in Bach reception since the 19th century, the former promoted by Bitter and

Schweitzer, the latter by Spitta. Both these readings focused on the more tense

elements in the music – the modulatory episodes generated by the subsidiary theme,

and the tense harmonies and unstable tonality throughout.

It is surprising, perhaps, that these readings have had little impact on recorded

performance until the last two decades of the 20th century. This can be partly

accounted for through the dominance of the balance-as-equilibrium and uniformity of

affect in most Bach performance. As often, HIP contributed to the expansion of

expressive options for this movement.22

On average, the Second Kyrie has speeded up in recent years. With a few

exceptions, the slowest tempi from the 1980s and 1990s stem from conductors of an

“older” school. Leonhardt, Jacobs and Hengelbrock match Klemperer 1967, at ° = 60;

but the slowest tempi on record remain Scherchen 1959 (° = 46), Maazel (° = 50) and

Mauersberger (° = 56). While the importance of this one factor (tempo) can certainly

be exaggerated, there are corollaries in other parameters. The “monumental” approach

is not represented in recent recordings, while more dynamic approaches seem largely

a more recent innovation. The former development could be explained in terms of

growing historical awareness and changes in performing forces; the monumental

approach is less readily associated with chamber-scale forces. More dynamic

performances reflect, in part, the influence of rhetorical approaches.

The more contemplative, lyrical approach, in its varieties, seems more of a

constant: while speeds have increased, a tendency towards calm, mostly legato

articulation and narrow dynamic range, avoiding sharp accents, remains a presence

from Karajan 1952 and Shaw 1960 to Koopman and Abbado in the 1990s. It, too,

however, has become more prominent in recent years. 22 The first two “dramatic” renditions (Somary and Schreier 1982) came from modern-instrument ensembles, but in both cases the conductors were aware of performance practice issues.

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The emergence of what I called the “synthetic-continuous” and “dramatic”

approaches seems to reflect the (re-)emerging prominence of more knife-edge-balance

views of Bach in general – which led, in this movement, to a revival of views already

present in 19th- and early 20th-century writings. The constantly questing approach of

Hickox and Hengelbrock is especially redolent of knife-edge-balance; abrupt,

dramatic readings like Jeffrey Thomas and Harnoncourt 1986 might seem to go

beyond “balance” altogether, focusing almost exclusively on the music’s agitated

elements. All these developments can be related to the emergence of more humanised

images of Bach, in a manner similar to that discussed in the summary to chapter 7.

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9. The Height of Intensity: Crucifixus The Crucifixus has long been recognised as one of Bach’s most intensely

expressive movements; it was singled out as such already in the 19th century (Herz

1985: 196; Stauffer 1997b: 124-125, 190, 195). It receives detailed attention even in

analyses and program notes which do not discuss individual movements; and many

writers who otherwise avoid expressive terminology provide at least a cursory

adjective in referring to this movement.1 The Crucifixus also receives nuanced or

contrastive performances in recordings which treat other expressive peaks (e.g., the

two Kyries, Qui tollis, Agnus dei) more uniformly. This special treatment is

sometimes expanded to include the central triptych of the Symbolum Nicenum.

9.1. Interpretations in theory Friedrich Smend, while denying the unity of the Mass as a whole, emphasised

unity-generating symmetries within its constituent parts. His highly influential

account of the Symbolum Nicenum’s structure (1937: 52) cites the Incarnatus,

Crucifixus, and Resurrexit as the section’s focal point. Viewing these movements as a

triptych also implies an emphasis on their inter-connections – in particular, the way

the first two movements’ endings lead into their successors. On the other hand, there

has also been a tendency to emphasise stylistic and expressive contrasts.

9.1.1. Individual movements: Symbols of feeling and idea

There is a basic consensus regarding the affects of the Crucifixus and

Resurrexit: the former expresses the height of sorrow, pain or mourning; the latter is

an exuberant expression of jubilation. The Incarnatus, however, has inspired more

conflicting views, and these, in turn, reflect on the degree of intensity and uniqueness

attributed to the Crucifixus.

1 For illustration, see: Knapp 1974; Rifkin 1982; Wollny 1993: 19; Hiller 1993: 17; Hochreiter 1998; Leaver 1998: 7.

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9.1.1.1. Incarnatus

The Incarnatus is sometimes presented as having a similar affect to the

Crucifixus. Bitter (1865, II: 157) and Spitta (1889, III: 57), for example, regard the

two movements as expressing the same emotion, albeit with increasing intensity: in

the Incarnatus pain is anticipated, in the Crucifixus it is fully realised. More recently,

this view has been articulated by George Stauffer (1997b: 116-119).

Other writers view the Incarnatus in terms of “symbols of idea” rather than

“symbols of feeling” (see pp. 88f above), seeing it as theologically important but

downplaying its expressive impact. They use richly mystical imagery, but avoid the

emotive terminology they employ for the Crucifixus (cf. Schweitzer 1911, II: 319-

320; Volbach [n.d.]: III; Terry 1924: 41). Blankenburg (1974: 75) warns against

placing the Incarnatus’s expressive import in the foreground, proclaiming it to be less

important than its symbolic dimension.

Stauffer cites the same symbolic features as Blankenburg, but focuses on their

emotive and pictorial impact. However, while noting the expressive import of all

strands in the texture, Stauffer nonetheless stresses “the primacy of voices over

instruments”, suggesting that Bach has replaced his habitual “tightly integrated

contrapuntal web” with a more stratified texture, in which the voices “seem to ‘float’”

above “an atmospheric backdrop” from the instruments (Stauffer 1997b: 118).

Stauffer cites this latter element as evidence for the movement’s forward-

looking character. In this, he draws on Christoph Wolff’s discussion on the stylistic

relationships between Incarnatus and Crucifixus (1995: 11-14). In terms of their

compositional history, these are, respectively, the latest and earliest movements in the

Mass.2 In Wolff’s view, this registers in the music: the Incarnatus reflects Bach’s

study of Pergolesi’s music, making it one of Bach’s most progressive pieces.

For all his emphasis on stylistic contrasts, Wolff also draws attention to “the

subtle linking of the two movements”, which prevents the potential “stylistic and

aesthetic clash of incompatible music” (1995: 16). In this context, he argues that the

Incarnatus’s ostensibly progressive texture is similar to the Crucifixus in terms of the

relationship between vocal and instrumental elements. 2 The Crucifixus is based on a 1714 cantata movement, BWV 12/2. Wolff’s conjecture that the Incarnatus is Bach’s last vocal composition (1995: 4) is based on the assumption that the Incarnatus was an afterthought, which was added to the Symbolum after its completion. This view has been recently challenged; see Hengel and Houten 2004.

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9.1.1.2. Crucifixus

When discussing the Incarnatus, Blankenburg describes the primacy of “idea”

over “feeling” as a general characteristic of Bach’s aesthetics. This does not prevent

him from interpreting the Crucifixus almost exclusively in terms of symbols of

feelings. He believes that the ostinato should be interpreted, not merely as a Passus

duriusculus, but as a Lamento bass combination of Catabasis and Pathopoeia.3 He

also interprets the repeated rhythmic figures in the orchestra as Suspiratio

(Blankenburg 1974: 76-77). His analysis emphasises the music’s expression of pain

and mourning. His symbolic mode of description, however, seems to point more

towards a lexical representation of the emotions than to their embodiment (see also p.

224 below). An extreme example of a similar tendency can be found in the

anonymous essay accompanying Kurt Thomas’s recording, which describes the

ostinato as merely “one of the stock devices of the seventeenth century music”.4

The other extreme is represented in Spitta’s analysis (1889, III: 57-58), which is

uncharacteristically rich in pictorial details (see p. 237 below).5 The author’s habitual

ambivalence towards pictorialism in Bach’s sacred music is nonetheless clearly

reflected. He describes the movement as “pathetic and piteous”, yet “purified from

every trace of egotism” (ibid: 57). He stresses the presence of a narrative element,

which in his view raises the movement’s intensity (compared, especially, with the Qui

tollis). Nonetheless, the focal point of his interpretation is theological; and he is keen

on pointing out the hints of consolation within this largely tragic movement.

One of the balancing factors in the movement, in Spitta’s view, is the basso

ostinato: its repetition has a regulating effect, holding the listener’s attention

“spellbound in contemplation of the stupendous scene that is being enacted” (ibid; see

also Mellers 1980: 221). Gurlitt (1951b: 244) and Rilling (1984: 76) focus on the

3 Bartel (1997: 359) defines Pathopeia as “a musical passage which seeks to arouse a passionate affection through chromaticism or some other means”. Catabasis also evokes “negative images or affections” (ibid: 214). Passus duriusculus, however, refers to “a chromatically altered ascending or descending melodic line”, without specific references to affect (ibid: 357-358). Bartel’s definitions rely on the terms’ definitions in 17th- and 18th-century treatises, which Bartel quotes and translates in full. 4 This essay is almost entirely devoid of descriptive adjectives; the use of the word “beautiful” to describe the modulatory close of the Crucifixus is almost a radical departure in this context. 5 Conversely, Schweitzer’s description (1911, II: 320) is, by his standards, uncharacteristically devoid of pictorialism.

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ostinato’s theological implications, viewing its recurrence as an emphasis on the

importance of the Theology of the Cross.

The ostinato’s stabilising role could, however, be questioned. Rilling defines

passacaglia as “a series of variations over a constant, repeating bass theme” (1984:

76). The Crucifixus, however, cannot be neatly divided into thirteen discrete

variations: except in bars 29-37 and 49-53, there is always at least one vocal part in

mid-phrase at the transition from one “variation” to the next – at least if one interprets

the downbeat as the starting point of each “variation”.6 This also prevents clear

harmonic separation between variations: perfect cadences linking one ostinato repeat

to the next are often disrupted by sustained dissonant notes in the vocal parts (e.g., the

tenor in bars 17 and 24-25, and the alto in bars 20-21).

Several writers avoided the terms “chaconne” and “passacaglia” in reference to

this movement; for example, Schweitzer (1911, II: 320) and Tovey (1937: 40-41) use

the terms “basso ostinato” and “ground-bass” respectively. Robert Cushman (1959)

refers to the ostinato as a “chaconne motif”, but does not extend the term to the

movement as a whole. Instead, he describes “the voices wander[ing] hopelessly in

utter despair” above the ostinato. This bleak account is reminiscent of Bitter’s (1865,

II: 158-159); Cushman is, however, the only writer known to me who connects this

view with the disparity between voices and instruments (indeed, he is one of the few

to draw any attention to this disparity; see also p. 234 below).

9.1.1.3. Resurrexit

Most writers view the Resurrexit as a triumphant, jubilant movement. They

differ in the level of intensity they ascribe to this affect, and in the specific adjectives

and images they evoke; but these are differences in degree rather than kind. Writers

also diverge in the precise musical factors (if any) they cite to justify their

interpretations, though Stauffer’s account (1997b: 125-126, quoted on p. 237 below)

constitutes a comprehensive list of most of the devices cited by previous writers.

6 This is not self-evident. One could argue that each statement of the ostinato commences on the second minim. The vocal phrases frequently begin on the second minim; and the instrumental patterns terminate on the tonic chord on first minim of bar 49, rather than the last minim of bar 48. On the other hand, the autograph slurs in most repeats of the ostinato suggest that repeats of the opening E are to be grouped together, and the first-minim downbeat also seems a more likely starting-point for the sequence than the weaker second minim.

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Some exceptions might be noted. Spitta, though describing the movement as

powerfully triumphant, argues that it is somewhat restrained in its enthusiasm: the

instruments interrupt the choir’s jubilation, dampening enthusiasm “for yet another

climax remains” (1889, III: 58) – presumably the Vivace ed Allegro setting of the Et

expecto. Blankenburg prefers a symbol-of-idea interpretation, especially with regard

to the rising figure (easily classifiable as Anabasis) which dominates much of the

movement (1974: 78-79; see also Bartel 1997: 179).

Others argue that the movement’s middle section departs from the optimistic

atmosphere of the outer sections. Rilling, for example, describes the setting of the

“iterum venturus est” (bars 74-86) as a vivid depiction of the “Day of Judgement”,

characterised by “great agitation and forcefulness” and “furious vehemence” (1984:

83; cf. Mellers 1980: 226, Stauffer 1997b: 127). This is portrayed, however, only as

local contrast, not unexpected in the ‘b’ section of a da-capo movement, and quickly

dispelled upon the return of the ‘a’ section.

9.1.2. Relationship between movements: Continuity and

contrast

A triptych is a static image, implying three distinctly separate panels. Many

writers and performers view the relationship between the Symbolum’s three central

choruses in similar terms. Others, however, stress the continuity between them.

Taken to its extreme, the Unity of Affect view could rule out the building-up of

tension and release even within individual movements, not to mention across

movements. The only variety that remains is the contrast between movements:

Bach’s music [...] was built in great architectural planes; its elements, like mighty arches and columns of stone, maintain their individuality and persist without weakening diversions for superficial variety, from beginning to end of each section. (Canby 1951)

Given the interpretations that discern a similarity of affect between Incarnatus and

Crucifixus, one can envisage these two movements coalescing into a single “pillar”.

On the other hand, each of the movements has its own shape, with notable

internal changes. The Incarnatus is divided into three parts (A-A’-B), each with its

own pattern of change in texture (polyphonic to homophonic), and its internal pattern

of harmonic tension and (partial) resolution. Those few writers who speak of an

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overall pattern of tension regard the “B” section as the climax (Bitter 1865, II: 157;

Schweitzer 1911, II: 319-320; Wolff 1995: 15-16).

The Crucifixus likewise has a clear internal division:

I. bars 1-29, on the words “Crucifixus etiam pro nobis sub Pontio Pilato”;

II. bars 29-37, on the words “passus et sepultus est”;

III. bars 37-49, on the movement’s complete text;

IV. bars 49-53, on the words “(passus et) sepultus est”.7

The separation between the sections (which in all cases takes place on the

second beat of the transition bar) is straightforward. There are only three phrases in

the entire movement in which all four voices begin and end simultaneously: the two

statements of “passus et sepultus est” (bars 29-33, 33-35) and the final statement of

“sepultus est” (bars 51-53). Elsewhere, each voice has an independent phrase

structure. Section IV is also distinguished by its scoring (voices and continuo alone), a

significant alteration in its basso ostinato, and a chromatic modulation.

Section IV is singled out by several commentators (e.g., Spitta 1889, III: 58;

Emery 1954; Cooke 1959: 103; Knapp 1974; Rauhe 1977; Arnold 1985; Wollny

1993). Otherwise, few writers comment on the movement’s shape or structure; the

most notable exception is Rilling, who views it as building up towards a climax at the

10th variation (bars 37-41), where vocal lines are “among the most dissonant Bach

ever composed” (1984: 73; see also Boyd 1990: 172-173).8 Neither he nor any other

writer places an emphasis on section II, but, as I will note below, this section is

singled out by several conductors.

The Resurrexit’s da-capo structure has already been discussed on p. 220 above.

The two most oft-discussed sections in both the Incarnatus and Crucifixus are

their respective endings. In both cases, the emphasis has been on those sections’

harmonically inconclusive character. A strong emphasis on E minor in bars 45-46 and

a weak cadence (VII7-I) in the final two bars make the Incarnatus’s final B major

chord a less-than-convincing tonic. The movement’s last two bars, together with the

Crucifixus’s opening chord, can be viewed in retrospect as a VII7/V-V-I sequence in E

7 The words “passus et” appear only in the alto. 8 For an opposite interpretation of these bars, see Wilfrid Mellers (1980: 223).

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minor.9 Similarly, the modulation to G major in section IV of the Crucifixus

accomplishes part of the transition to the Resurrexit’s D major.

The Crucifixus-Resurrexit transition is arguably calculated to enhance the

contrast and difference between the two movements. The Crucifixus ends a-capella

and piano, while the Resurrexit ushers in the full orchestra on the first downbeat; the

Crucifixus ends in descent, the Resurrexit begins in ascent;10 the Crucifixus ends in

tonal-harmonic instability, the Resurrexit opens with a bright, unambiguous tonic. But

the last two points arguably enhance continuity: the Resurrexit’s opening ascent

complements the Crucifixus’s concluding descent, and resolves the tonal tensions

generated by the chromatic modulation in the Crucifixus’s final bars.

The conflicting demands of continuity and contrast have a direct impact on the

performative shaping of these movements. Rilling expresses the ambivalence in his

performance directions for the Crucifixus. He points to the possibility of projecting

the movement’s shape, with its climax in bars 43-44. However, he also suggests that

the movement might be performed with “restrained dynamics throughout”, to

enhance the contrast with the Resurrexit (1984: 76). His own recordings illustrate both

options: a clear variation-10 climax in 1977 (CD 4: 11; see p. 229 below), restrained

dynamics (allied with mostly legato articulation) in 1988, and an intermediary option

in 1999 (restrained climax, more through “character of diction” than through

dynamics; CD 4: 28).

The performative shaping of the Crucifixus is, thus, often strongly dependent on

the shaping of the flanking movements. For this reason, the following section, though

focusing on the Crucifixus, will include references to its relationship with the

Incarnatus and Resurrexit.

9 This view is strongly, even violently projected in Radu’s recording, where the Incarnatus ends with an incisive forte, and there is almost no break between its final chord and the equally aggressive opening of the Crucifixus. 10 Hermann Rauhe (1986: 14) refers to these passages as hypobole and hyperbole respectively – reaching into the lowest or topmost reaches of the register (see Bartel 1997: 307).

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9.2. Interpretations in practice Richard Taruskin has chosen the Crucifixus to illustrate how far HIP has

removed itself from the Doctrine of the Affections: To a vitalist performer such as Otto Klemperer [...] the Crucifixus of the B minor Mass is a statement about a matter of great human concern, emotionally intensified by Bach’s rhetoric of chromaticism, dissonance, and melodic descent. Bach speaks of Christ’s suffering and death, and the performers, identifying with Bach and Christ alike, speak directly to the listener out of their experience both lived and musical. To a modernist like Johannes Martini the Crucifixus is a musical construction, some elements of which have generic semantic connotations – e.g., the tetrachordal ground bass – and for that very reason may “speak for themselves,” independent of the composer, who has not created but merely chosen them and set them in motion, and – needless to say – without any assistance from the executants. (Taruskin 1995: 136)

The historical narrative is clear: “in the beginning”, performers identified with

Bach’s music, and sought to convey its message. “Authenticists” replaced this

spiritual, +/+ identification with a facile, “let-the-music-speak-for-itself”, x/-

approach. This narrative is equivalent to the tropes which Dreyfus (1996: 103)

discerned in Bach reception (see p. 158 above). Klemperer (and, by extension, the

vitalist/romantic/traditional approach he represents) corresponds to writers like Bitter

and Spitta, who employ rich imagery to communicate the expressive content they

discern in Bach’s music – or to writers like Cooke (1959: 103) and Mellers (1980:

221), who draw attention to the ostinato’s historical sources while emphasising

Bach’s unique treatment of it. On the flip side, Martini (and the geometric/modernist/

authentistic approach he represents) is akin to the writer who viewed the Lamento

bass as just a 17th-century stock device (see p. 219 above).

Unfortunately, I have not been able to access a copy of Martini’s recording.

Taruskin describes it as fast and light-textured; by associating it with the modernist

end of HIP, he also implies that it is rigidly metronomic and devoid of significant

inflections of dynamics or articulation. Even if Martini’s performance does not

illustrate these tendencies, alternatives could be cited, notably Harnoncourt 1968 (CD

4: 9). Glancing at the tempo table, one might be tempted to conclude that the thrust of

Taruskin’s narrative is correct: the movement is getting faster, and slower tempi in the

1980s and 1990s mostly come from “traditional” conductors.

Taruskin’s choice of Klemperer as vitalist par excellence, however, is highly

problematic: his aesthetics were closer to “geometrism” (see 2.2.1, pp. 46ff above),

and his Crucifixus (CD 4: 8) illustrates this as well as any movement in his 1967

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Mass. Taruskin’s description implies a highly-inflected performance, which highlights

specific expressive devices. Ironically, the performances that most closely match this

description are HIP (as are, admittedly, some archetypal illustrations of the

uninflected approach). Klemperer’s rendition, while not constituting an extreme

example of internal uniformity, is closer to that end of the spectrum than to the

“vitalist” approach Taruskin implies.

Klemperer’s basic parameters reflect his belief in the music’s expressive

character: a tempo which is among the slowest on record, quiet dynamics with some

degree of local flexibility, and a bass-heavy sonority. Klemperer ensures textural

clarity, and there are rising-and-falling patterns within individual phrases; but the

overall dynamic range and articulatory spectrum are narrow. There are no patterns of

tension and release, no high or low points (except for a descent to sotto voce at the

final “sepultus est”).11 Overall, he seems to select parameters that would enable the

music’s expressive character to speak for itself. Once he has “chosen [these

parameters] and set them in motion”, there is little further intervention.

9.2.1. Pre-rhetoric: Architecture and unity

Klemperer’s approach is typical of its time: most modern instrument

performances – especially before 1977 (Rilling’s first performance) – treat the

Crucifixus in a manner consistent with unity of affect and with the “block

construction” aesthetics portrayed in the Canby quote (p. 221 above), making, at

most, a concession to the distinctiveness of section IV. Furthermore, they set it within

a triptych which consists of three contrasted blocks. Some even collapse Incarnatus

and Crucifixus into a single block, minimising the differentiation between them.

Karajan, in both performances, illustrates the three-blocks approach, and also

provides one of the clearest examples of isolating the Crucifixus for special treatment.

He opens the triptych in a slow, hushed Incarnatus (CD 4: 1), performed in an almost

seamless legato and virtually static dynamics. The Crucifixus (CD 4: 2) is much faster

and (especially in 1974) louder, with frequent tenuto-marcato articulation, especially

in the orchestra. Karajan maintains an intense forte, with little differentiation between

strong and weak beats, and a quick-march-like orchestral articulation through most of

11 In his 1961 recording, there are clearer differences between the sections. These are, however, inflections on a narrow dynamic range (and in the choir only).

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the movement. These features stand out in performances which otherwise tend

towards soft dynamics and gentle articulation. Only in the final “sepultus est” do

timbre, dynamics and articulation soften, and the tempo slows down slightly.

This dramatic approach continues into the beginning of the Resurrexit (CD 4:

3): while this movement is mostly performed in Karajan’s habitual moderate-to-soft

dynamics,12 it begins and ends forte, maximising the contrast with the hushed

conclusion of the Crucifixus. The overall approach seems to maximise contrasts

within the triptych, emphasising mystery and un-earthiness in the Incarnatus, pain in

the Crucifixus and triumph in the opening gesture of the Resurrexit.

An almost diametrically opposed version of the “three-contrasted-blocks”

approach is represented by Shaw 1947, Lehmann, Mauersberger (CD 4: 4-6), K.

Thomas, Münchinger and Daus:13 a mellow, internally-varied Crucifixus –

characterised by soft and flexible dynamics, round articulation and (in some cases)

flexible tempo – is framed between two dry, internally uniform movements.

In these readings, the Incarnatus is made to sound even more austere than the

stile antico movements. The tempo is fast, and dynamics are almost static (with the

exception of Thomas’s bars 40-49). Instrumental parts are shaped meticulously, with

clearly distinct pairs (in the violins) and almost no dynamic inflection; the chorus is

more legato, though in the two performances featuring a boys’ chorus (Mauersberger

and Thomas) individual notes are sometimes accentuated to facilitate clarity. The

Resurrexit is relatively slow (except in Lehmann’s version), dynamically uniform

(within well-defined terraces), and meticulously articulated, with few instances of

legato and, especially in Mauersberger and Thomas, frequent melismatic aspiration.

These versions seem consistent with the views that separate the Incarnatus from

the Crucifixus, and emphasise human-emotional expression only in the latter. One

gets the sense that the Incarnatus is treated like a doctrinal statement with almost no

expressive-emotional import – more a continuation of the Et in unum than a prelude to

the Crucifixus. The latter emerges as the first movement in the Symbolum to be

performed with legato articulation and flexible dynamics – the techniques which the

Leipzig school identified as espressivo. 12 In 1952, only the first phrase (bars 1-9, first beat) and last phrase (mid-129-end) are forte; the rest of the movement is hushed. In 1974, there are more instances of louder dynamics. 13 King’s Incarnatus is more dynamically active, especially in the “B” section. However, the Incarnatus-Crucifixus relation in his performance is reminiscent of the performances discussed here.

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Other performances from the 1950s-1970s (notably Scherchen 1950, 1959;

Jochum 1957, 1980; Shaw 1960, 1990; Klemperer 1961, 1967) reflect the view that

the Crucifixus intensifies an affect already intimated in the Incarnatus, while

contrasting both movements with their surroundings (Et in unum and Resurrexit).14 In

both Incarnatus and Crucifixus, these performances feature a slow tempo, legato

articulation, soft dynamics and timbre, and an avoidance of strong accents and

aspiration. The Incarnatus features some degree of local dynamic inflection, but there

is no attempt at overall shaping; for the most part, this is true of the Crucifixus up

until the end (with the exception of Jochum 1980; see p. 229 below).

Within these parameters, however, the Crucifixus is treated more intensely. Its

dynamic range is wider, with a greater degree of local activity. Jochum, in both

performances, brings out a deeper, more resonant bass in the Crucifixus, and clearly

articulates the individual notes (thereby drawing attention to the rhythmic difference

between the two movements’ bass rhythms). Shaw employs a distinctly slower tempo

in the Crucifixus (his 1960 and 1990 versions are respectively the slowest and second-

slowest on record). Scherchen’s beat in the Crucifixus, especially in 1959, is

constantly fluctuating. The later version is also characterised by independent shaping

of individual lines, creating a greater sense of movement and directionality despite the

slow tempo; this stands out against the relative uniformity of his Incarnatus. Alone

among the conductors cited here, Scherchen maximises the contrast between

Crucifixus and Resurrexit, softening and slowing down at the end of the Crucifixus to

prepare for a Resurrexit which, at the time, was the fastest on record.

In none of these performances was there an attempt to increase the tension at the

end of the Incarnatus, so that the Crucifixus’s opening E minor chord would sound as

a resolution to the Incarnatus’s B major. Instead, they project a calmer continuity

between the two movements.

One recording from this period, however, stands out in giving a distinct,

unmistakeable internal shape to the Crucifixus.15 Richter’s studio version (CD 4: 7) is

14 In this sense, Jochum (in both readings) is an exception: his massive ritardando at the duet’s last section (bar 63, at the introduction of the words “Et incarnatus”) make the transition to the Incarnatus more continuous. 15 Albert Coates ends section I piano, marking the unanimous entry on “passus” with a clear forte. His is also the only recording known to me to feature a crescendo-diminuendo pattern within section IV.

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one of the starkest examples of the conductor’s stratified, hierarchical manner. The

Incarnatus features an atypically distinct use of gradual dynamic inflection, enhanced

by legato articulation (except in the last 9 bars). Against this, the Crucifixus initially

sounds harsh, featuring a fast tempo (before Harnoncourt 1968, Richter’s Crucifixus

was the fastest on record) and, initially, uniform articulation. There is also a clear

hierarchy between three main components of the musical texture: the chorus is at the

forefront; the ostinato, though quieter, is audible and distinctly articulated; the rest of

the orchestra recedes into the background as the chorus enters. Until bar 29, Richter

maintains a combination of rigidity and clarity reminiscent of his Saxon mentors and

colleagues; he also achieves a high level of clarity, through a combination of tenuto

non legato articulation, clear diction and spatial separation.

However, having established a seemingly rigid, hierarchical reading, Richter

introduces a subito piano in the transition to the “passus et sepultus est” in bar 29,

softening dynamics and timbre alike and switching to a more legato articulation. This

results in an inevitable loss of clarity, but imparts a quiet intensity to section II. A

similar atmosphere is generated by the concluding “sepultus est” (section IV), where

Richter considerably slows down (from ° = 63 to below 50 in the penultimate bar).

Richter emphasises the contrast between the first two sections, then, by giving

them two different types of performances: literalistic and brightly-lit for section I,

hushed and mysterious for section II. The increasing textural complexity in section I

is clearly exposed, while section II sounds completely chordal (except for a slight,

barely-audible emphasis on the tenor’s second “passus”, bars 30-31).

Contrasts are not so clearly marked in the rest of the movement; section III

illustrates Richter’s frequent tendency (see p. 65 above) to restrict local dynamic

nuances to special moments. In particular, the section’s last phrase (especially the

tenor’s “etiam pro nobis”, bars 44-45) gradually softens dynamics and timbre (without

loss of clarity), making the transition into section IV smoother than the “break”

between sections I and II. On the whole, however, Richter’s stratified reading disrupts

continuity within the Crucifixus, making it more difficult to sense continuity in the

triptych as a whole.16

16 There is more continuity and local nuance in Richter’s two 1969 recordings, albeit within a similar outline. His 1973/4 reading of BWV 12/2 features even greater flexibility of both tempo and dynamics and more continuous, legato articulation.

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More continuous readings of the Crucifixus begin to emerge in the late 1970s

and early 1980s. Rilling 1977 (CD 4: 10) shapes the entire movement as a single,

rising crescendo culminating in soprano’s held high E in bars 43-44, descending in

the last two variations (see also p. 223 above). His performance operates with no

reference to the textural changes which were so central to Richter’s interpretation.

Jochum (1980; CD 4: 12) modifies his earlier interpretation to include features

of both Richter’s and Rilling’s shape. He softens the dynamics slightly at section II,

allowing a clear distinction between the sections without sounding as terraced as

Richter. He then shapes the dynamics in section III towards and away from a bar 44

climax: the soprano’s E is actually piano, but momentum is maintained by wave-

dynamics in the altos and basses (bar 44) and tenors (bar 45).

Corboz (1979) shapes each of the first three sections with its own, independent

arch of tension-and-release. The first three “variations” are hushed, followed by a

surge of dynamics in the 4th “variation”, and a gradual, not uninterrupted descent

which, by the end of section I, leads back to the opening piano. The homophonic

section II is treated as two distinct crescendo-diminuendo patterns. Section III begins

quietly, builds up towards a local, treble-dominated climax under the soprano’s

extended E (bars 44-45), then droops again with a slight emphasis on the cadential

alteration to the ostinato in bar 48. Section IV simply continues this descent. The

overall shape that emerges is that of three linked “waves”, each with its own peak.

These features suggest a growing interest in the significance of texture. Prior to

Corboz 1979, Richter’s recordings were virtually the only ones in which the

transitions between imitative to homophonic textures emerged as a significant

factor.17 In the 1980s and 1990s, the division of the movement along these lines

became increasingly predominant.

In his discussion of the Crucifixus, Bitter (1865, II: 159) cites Kirnberger’s

references to the movement’s densely imitative, polyphonic texture (cf. Bukofzer

1948: 296). Bitter concedes the accuracy of this observation, but downplays its

importance: what matters is the movement’s emotional and theological content. A

similar attitude seems implicit in many recordings. If clarity is sought, it is in order to

reveal the music’s Complexity, not as a means of generating Intensity. After 1980,

however, several performers seem more intent on tying these two aspects. 17 The one exception is Horst, who also introduces a subito piano in bar 29.

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9.2.2. The influence of rhetoric

The three “traditional” performances which clearly distinguish between the

movement’s four sections are far removed from the rhetorical approach. Their

articulation bears little relation to rhetoric-as-speech: Jochum and Corboz mostly

employ legato articulation, whereas Richter alternates between legato and rigid tenuto

non legato. Thus, a rhetorical approach is not the only one that could lead musicians

to focus on textural considerations. It does, however, encourage such a focus.

A speech-like approach to the Crucifixus would involve at least a partial

correlation between word-underlay and phrasing. While no performance features

caesurae at each and every word-boundary (neither, for that matter, does normal

speech), several performances observe the following divisions with varying degrees of

consistency: “Crucifixus/ etiam pro nobis/ sub Pontio Pilato”. Since there is little

correlation between any two parts in the placement of these boundaries, a

performance which brings them out would emphasise the mutual independence of the

vocal parts, as well as the transitions from polyphonic to homophonic textures. A

belief in rhetoric-as-semantics would provide further motivation to distinguish

between the four sections, which set different portions of the text. This in turn would

affect the movement’s overall shape: while not ruling out the traditional bar 43/4

climax, it opens up further possibilities.

Sections II and IV feature the most homophonic textures and the most regular

phrase-structures in the Crucifixus. This, in itself, supports a calmer reading for them.

The long, mutually-independent phrases in bars 13-29 and section III present a wealth

of sustained foreign notes; clear cadences are few and far between. This contrasts with

section II, where the first vocal phrase ends with a perfect cadence, and the second

with a clear dominant chord, resolved by the orchestra in bar 37. On the other hand,

the abrupt transition between two opposite textures – like other sudden changes in

prominent parameters – can be read as a dramatic gesture.

It might make more sense to speak here of different types of tension, rather than

different degrees. Chordal textures can support a single powerful gesture, or a series

of such gestures; polyphonic textures are better suited for cumulative intensity. By

shifting the emphasis from one part to another (with frequent overlaps between parts),

and deliberately avoiding firm cadences, such textures could be used to intensify and

prolong harmonic tensions. The deferment of closure inherent in such a procedure

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creates what Dalia Cohen (1994: 37) terms “suspensive directionality”. This

“uncertainly [and] suspense as to the direction the music will take” helps generate

overall intensity; but it would be difficult to point to a single locus for this effect.

The shaping of a section III climax, therefore, rarely takes the form of a definite

point of climax; tension peaks and ebbs around bars 43/4, but not with a distinct point

of arrival, and only sometimes with a distinct point of departure (bars 45, second beat,

a diminuendo initiated by the alto). Section II, on the other hand, allows for definite

points of high tension: the syncopated entries, especially of the second phrase (bar 33,

second beat). The latter syncopation underscores the most dissonant and ambiguous

chord in this section – a VII7 chord above a tonic pedal (or, alternatively, a IV6/4 chord

with two foreign notes – the alto’s D# and the bass’s F#).18 The melodic peak at bar 35

is another candidate; it is possible to include both within the same phrase. One

recording – Hermann Max’s – treats bars 33-35 as the sole dynamic high point in an

otherwise narrow-range, piano reading; others, to be described shortly (see also

Corboz, p. 229 above), shape the movement around it.

Thus, while divergent shaping of individual lines leads to a clear distinction

between polyphonic and homophonic sections, the sections’ relative intensity also

depends on other factors. Word-underlay-phrasing can facilitate clarity, gently

drawing listeners’ attention to differences in texture. It can also be used as an aid for

comfortable breathing. In large choirs, members can breath individually without this

being caught by the listeners; this is probably how many of them achieve a seamless

legato. Small choirs, or choirs aiming for cohesion and unanimity of attack, will aim

for a unified phrase division; in the Crucifixus, some word boundaries are

conveniently placed to allow non-arbitrary intakes of breath in the midst of a long

phrase (e.g., “-am/ pro” in the bass, bar 20; “bis/ sub” in the tenor, bar 26).

In Herreweghe 1988 (CD 4: 22), occasional word-underlay phrasing does little

to affect the movement’s overall shape or affect. Breaths at such points (e.g., bars 20

in the bass, bar 23 in the alto, bar 24 in the tenor, bar 25 in the soprano) are gentle and

18 The syncopation on this chord is one of the differences Bach introduced when he re-worked BWV 12/2 into the Crucifixus. In the former, this was an unaccented, melismatic chord with no suggestion of syncopation. It was therefore possible to view it as a transition between the two flanking chords, rather than an independent chord. The word underlay in the Crucifixus, and the resulting syncopation, force listeners to perceive it as an independent chord.

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understated, and do not disrupt the overall feel of legato. Likewise, Herreweghe only

gently underlines the distinction between the sections, relaxing slightly at section II,

and starting a small crescendo in section III which already dissipates by bar 44.

Notwithstanding his rhetoric-as-structure theories, Herreweghe does not treat section

II (or any other section) as a tense Confutatio (see, however, p. 238 below).

A similar gentle underlining characterises Rifkin’s performance (CD 4: 13). His

singers – particularly the alto and tenor (see also p. 140 above) – employ word-

underlay as a local modification to a basic legato articulation, but the level of local

dynamic activity is occasionally higher than in Herreweghe’s reading (e.g., the alto’s

crescendo in bars 13-15). Section II’s homophonic texture is underscored with a

unanimous breath at bar 29 (second beat), and a slight slowing down of the tempo and

softening of dynamics within section II itself (the slower tempo also carries into the

rest of the movement, with a further slowing at IV).19

Rifkin’s chamber-music texture facilitates co-ordinated independence, allowing

features such as the change of texture to emerge without strong intervention. The

singers carry most of the interpretive burden, with soft, background contribution from

the orchestra. The other two one-per-part versions of this movement, however,

approach the issue differently. Parrott’s singers (CD 4: 14) are mutually divergent in

the more polyphonic sections: David Thomas phrases as broadly as possible,

maintaining a continuous legato, while others – especially Christian Immler (alto) and

Rogers Covey Crump (tenor) – mostly employ word-underlay phrasing. Dynamics

also seem uncoordinated, especially in section I. In III, there is a lead-up towards a

high-point in bar 44, but it seems led almost entirely by David Thomas (until bar 42)

and Emily van Evera (bars 43-44). The subito piano in bar 45 is more unanimous,

however, as is the earlier crescendo-diminuendo pattern in the 9th variation (followed

by a clearly weighted, note-by-note ritardando towards section III). The singers’

individualised phrasing is further accentuated by the orchestra’s firm projection of its

rhythmic pattern; downbeats and bar-lines are more audible than in Rifkin’s version.

19 Rifkin’s Incarnatus features a faster, steadier tempo (except for a ritardando towards the end), and fewer inflections of dynamics or articulation. Within Rifkin’s entire performance, the Crucifixus emerges as one of the more expressively-nuanced movements. In Herreweghe 1988, there is a similar relationship, although the two movements are closer and therefore there is greater continuity. In both cases, the relationship is more akin to the “intensification of the same affect” than to a distinctly drier treatment of the Incarnatus.

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A more cohesive, overall dynamic shaping can be found in Gardiner’s

performance (CD 4: 15). His concertists consistently bring out a crescendo-

diminuendo figure on the opening phrases:

Example 9.1: Crucifixus, bars 5-6; Gardiner (CD 4: 15)

As the section proceeds, the ensemble builds up a crescendo which is, however,

reversed around bars 23-24, leading into the quieter rendition of section II. This

dynamic pattern seems more unified, projected across the ensemble rather by

individual lines, an impression partly generated by the singers’ more legato

articulation. The rise-and-fall pattern in section III is projected more by the orchestra

than by the singers.

Gardiner places a soloistic Crucifixus between two choral movements.20 This

accords with his three-blocks treatment of the triptych; the Crucifixus is contrasted

with the Incarnatus in its faster tempo as well as in its soloistic scoring, and the gap

between Crucifixus and Resurrexit is unusually long. Rifkin and Parrott, on the other

hand, allow a greater sense of continuity between the movements.

The performers discussed above employ word-underlay unsystematically,

within a predominantly legato context. Leonhardt’s readings of the Incarnatus (CD 4:

16) and Crucifixus (CD 4: 17) combine nearly systematic word-underlay phrasing and

downbeat accentuations; when a word boundary occurs off-beat, this results in subtle

metric dissonances. In both movements, dynamics are stable, but not static, and there

are subtle emphases on moments of greater tension (dissonant harmonies,

syncopations); these emphases are, however, more intensely projected in the

Crucifixus. 21

20 Jacobs employs soloists in the Incarnatus and full chorus in the next two choruses. He also employs soloists in the Qui tollis. His choices coincide with those of the Berlin Singakademie in their 1834 performance of the Missa and Symbolum Nicenum (Herz 1985: 194-195). 21 In his understated way, Leonhardt retains section III as the climax: accentuation hardens at this section, with a relatively harsh rendition of the soprano’s “sub Pontio Pilato” (bars 42-44).

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If Leonhardt points towards the unsettling potential of word-underlay phrasing,

Harnoncourt (1986) exploits this potential with a near-vengeance. He performs both

Incarnatus (CD 4: 19) and Crucifixus (CD 4: 20) with a mixture of sostenuto

fragments and sharp accents, the latter often placed on off-beat word boundaries. In

the Crucifixus, he also emphasises each downbeat entry of the ostinato – sometimes

by a slight emphasis in the continuo line (e.g., bars 17, 37), sometimes by a sforzando

in the full string section (e.g. bars 1, 9, 45). The accents, however, are placed in the

orchestra alone; Harnoncourt treats the Crucifixus as an instrumental passacaglia

juxtaposed with an independent vocal texture (cf. Cushman, quoted on p. 220 above).

The latter is shaped according to word underlay, and each vocal part receives an

independent contour in dynamics and articulation alike. Harnoncourt draws special

attention to angular, syllabic lines (e.g., tenor in bars 17-20), and emphasises clashes

between voices (e.g., alto and tenor in bars 23-24).

Through this localised activity, an overall pattern emerges, leading to and away

from a climax in bar 33. Tension within the section II is maintained as Harnoncourt

exposes “cracks” in the ostensibly chordal texture. The first six chords of section II

form a two-part sequence. However, only in the tenor does the word-underlay match

the sequence.22 Most performances downplay this feature. Harnoncourt emphasises it:

he separates the two repeats of “passus” in the tenor, and draws a breath between “-

sus” and “et” in the soprano (bar 30).

This pattern of textural clashes leads into the climax at bar 33. Harnoncourt

begins bar 33 with a sharp downbeat accentuation, followed by an equally powerful

emphasis on the voices’ syncopation in the second beat. He thus maximises the

tension between choir and orchestra, which is latent throughout his rendition of this

movement.

22 This feature is unique to the Crucifixus; the texture in the equivalent point in BWV 12/2 is straightforwardly chordal.

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Example 9.2: Crucifixus, bars 29-36; Harnoncourt 1986 (CD 4: 20)

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In section III, the vocal phrasing is almost continuously legato. Repose is

prevented, however, by an intensification of the orchestral accentuation. In the 11th

variation (bars 41-44), Harnoncourt accents each downbeat, with increasing

heaviness, leading to a sharp accentuation on the opening of the 12th variation (bar

44). This, together with a crescendo on the soprano’s “pas-” in this bar, turns this

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moment into a minor climax (after the major climax at bar 33), followed by a notable

descent. Section IV is clearly separated from the rest: the orchestra’s prominence up

to this point makes its omission in the last four bars more palpable. Hushed dynamics

and greater choral homogeneity further intensify the sense of mystery.23

Harnoncourt maintains an aura of instability even in the Resurrexit (CD 4: 21).

The dramatic transition to this movement is reminiscent of Spitta’s imagery: the

opening crescendo emerges from “the silence of the tomb” to raise “the standard of

the Resurrection”. However, Harnoncourt’s performance also resonates with Spitta’s

claim that the Resurrexit’s “vigour and [...] defiant boldness” are somewhat

attenuated, that something “tempers the movement and keeps it down” (1889, III: 58;

see also p. 221 above).

George Stauffer (1997b: 125-126) enumerates the anabasis as one of the factors

contributing to the Resurrexit’s “breathless ebullience”, alongside the dance-like

atmosphere generated by “balanced phrases, triple meter, emphatic downbeats,

delicate detachments”, and the voices’ “free, instrumental figures”. Harnoncourt

undermines the “emphatic downbeats”, preventing the articulation of a steady pulse

through a combination of sostenuto fragments, weakened dynamics in the bass, and

slurring or elongation of repeated notes.

Even when Harnoncourt clearly projects items from Stauffer’s list, he does so in

a manner not entirely consistent with a “mood of elation”. Numerous sostenuto

fragments, and figures like the upbeat corta (¶» õ Ä ), are highlighted and isolated;

whilst other performers treat them as elegant ornaments, Harnoncourt uses them to

undercut the movement’s forward momentum. Likewise, the hushed dynamics in the

two fugal expositions render them more awed than jubilant; and Harnoncourt’s

continued use of word-underlay phrasing again generates subtle internal clashes in the

choral texture.24

23 Harnoncourt’s basic shape (increased intensity in bars 13-29; climax at bar 33; gradual, non-continuous descent through section III to a hushed conclusion at IV) need not be realised through his specific means: even the association of Complexity and Intensity can be presented without Harnoncourt’s destabilising gestures. This point is clearly demonstrated in Harry Christophers’ recording, which projects a similar shape while retaining rounder, often legato articulation. 24 Schreier 1991 provides an illuminating counter-example. This is the only other version to consistently bring out the anabasis as a crescendo. Schreier’s points of demarcation and dynamic contours are reminiscent of Harnoncourt’s; but his more resilient articulation, clearer bass, fewer and less prominent emphases on isolated figures and steadier dynamics result in a more dependable and

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9.2.3. Neo-romanticism: Drama and creativity

Harnoncourt’s 1986 triptych vividly illustrates his “subtle discomfort” manner.

This becomes clearer when compared to the more direct approach taken by musicians

who seek to project drama and discomfort in the Crucifixus – notably Jeffrey Thomas

(CD 4: 23). Where Harnoncourt constructed his interpretation through the cumulative

effect of small details, Thomas projects his view in large dynamic waves, allied with a

single, extremely vivid gesture which dominates the entire movement.

Thomas’s incisive, forte-staccato rendition of the strings’ rhythmic figure is

reminiscent of Karajan’s march-like Crucifixus (see p. 225 above). This approach

remains a rarity; three other recent examples – Herreweghe 1996, Fasolis and Biller –

were all recorded after Thomas’s version was released.

Herreweghe’s version (CD 4: 25) is the most restrained in this group. In the

vocal parts, the relationship between Herreweghe’s first and second versions of the

Crucifixus is typical of his general stylistic evolution: longer phrases, projected

primarily through directional dynamics. The orchestra, however, is more sharply

etched in 1996: it is phrased staccato, and, despite its soft dynamics, has much greater

presence. Most change and development, however, takes place in the vocal parts:

Section II is slightly louder and more internally uniform, section III begins quietly and

builds-up to a crescendo which, unusually, extends almost to the end of the section.

This is one of the more extroverted movements in this performance (especially

compared to the almost sempre legato Incarnatus), but it can hardly be counted

among the most theatrical readings of the Crucifixus. Thomas’s version, on the other

hand, is immediately arresting even when heard in isolation (though it is also strongly

contrasted with the preceding Incarnatus).25 And, while the other performances cited

in this section render the strings’ rhythm with almost uniform intensity, Thomas

projects a crescendo-sforzando figure, intended to portray Christ’s nailing to the

Cross (Butt 1999a: 191).26

predictable version. Similarly, Leonhardt (CD 4: 18) makes audible many of the strands, and figures, highlighted by Harnoncourt, but provides a more steadily articulated bass, firmer metric accentuation and fewer dynamic nuances. 25 Thomas’s Incarnatus contains two unusual features: the internal echo in the violins’ figure (last two quavers subito piano), and the pauses before bars 45 and 49. It is, however, restrained and introverted in comparison with his Crucifixus. 26 Boyd (1990: 172-173) associates this imagery with “the tortured chromatic vocal lines” in bars 37-42.

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Example 9.3: Crucifixus, bars 1-5; Jeffrey Thomas (CD 4: 23)

In the beginning of section I, this “nailing” figure dominates the texture; vocal

and instrumental strands are almost equally prominent. To achieve this, the choir

sings forte.27 Their legato phrasing (which does not sound entirely smooth because of

their intense production) contrasts with the incisive shaping of the strings.

The figure begins to recede in the upbeat to bar 20: its crescendo shape remains,

but its dynamics are reduced, allowing greater prominence to the increasingly dense

vocal texture. If the figure is meant to portray the crucifixion, its gradual

disappearance may be related to the omission of the word “crucifixus” in these bars.

As the figure recedes, dynamics and timbre in the entire ensemble soften. In

section II, the strings recede into the background, leading to an almost static reading

of the section itself. In bars 36-37, the figure returns, heralding the return of the word

“crucifixus”. It is less emphatic, however, than in section I, softening and receding in

bars 42-45 and becoming almost inaudible in bars 46-47. As before, its recession is

linked both with increased vocal activity and with the omission of the word

“Crucifixus”; and the tone of the performance becomes softer as the figure recedes.

There is a notable drop in both tempo and dynamics in the penultimate

variation, coinciding with the cadential figuration of the strings and continuo in bars

47-48. The transition to section IV is not highlighted, but the modulation to G major

27 Compare with Thomas’s discussion of his performance of BWV 198/1 (in Sherman: 277).

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does receive special treatment: Thomas draws a breath before the first syllable of

“sepultus est”, where the bass departs from the ostinato by ascending back to C-sharp,

and further softens timbre and dynamics. The performance ends with an elongated

fermata, followed by a long pause (about 10 seconds) between Crucifixus and

Resurrexit (CD 4: 24). No other recording – except for LPs which place the two

movements on different sides – gives such a long break between these movements.28

Thomas’s approach might be described as creative: whereas Harnoncourt

arguably draws attention to latent feature in the score, Thomas uses the orchestra to

create a word painting. Thomas does not attempt anything similar in his reading of

BWV 12/2; instead, he focuses on the text, encouraging his singers to portray the

weeping and wailing of which they sing (see also pp. 134ff above). Within the

Crucifixus, the word painting refers to the act of crucifixion: the nailing figure’s

presence is contingent on that idea’s immediate presence in the text. This, however,

does not correspond to any change in the score, where the strings’ rhythmic figuration

remains the same throughout.

As often, Hengelbrock’s performance (CD 4: 26) bears a closer resemblance to

Harnoncourt’s. However, while the latter capitalised on disparities between choir and

orchestra, Hengelbrock bases his interpretation primarily on the vocal strands. His

reading also resembles Corboz 1979 (p. 229 above) in featuring parallel trajectories

for each section, and shaping each phrase in section II separately. However, where

Corboz projected a series of arches, Hengelbrock presents a series of descents: each of

the first three sections begins at a higher point than its predecessor, but ends piano.29

Hengelbrock’s notes, unusually, make no reference to the movement’s model

(BWV 12/2). He does not focus on the Mass text, either. Instead, he proposes a more

universal message: eight times Bach lets individual voices project the “crucifixus” into the difficult harmonies of the orchestra’s passus duriusculus, before the individual notes of the melody are formed [...] Bach’s devastating suggestive power summons up

28 Richter comes close in his video version. The camera focuses on him at the transition, showing him counting the beats and measuring the distance between Crucifixus and Resurrexit. 29 Koopman’s performance features a similar shape: a descent in dynamics in section I and within each variation of section II. Section III is more placid: the soprano’s high E is emphasised, but as an isolated peak, not as the culmination of a cumulative build-up. However, Koopman’s dynamic range is narrower, and his dynamic and articulatory contours are smoother: there are no hesitations, sudden rhythmic jolts, or emphatic accentuations. It is also faster and more flowing than Hengelbrock’s.

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not only the image of Golgotha, but that of all the Golgothas of this world. (Hengelbrock 1997)

Hengelbrock begins by emphasising the “hardness” of the “steps” with heavy,

tenuto non legato articulation in the strings, which transfers into the initial vocal

statements (variations 2 and 3, sung by concertists; ripienists join in at bar 13).

Afterwards, the articulation softens, alternating between tenuto and short legati, with

some word-underlay phrasing. However, the sense of heaviness persists, particularly

due to frequent employment of messa di voce. Where Christophers employs

continuous crescendi on sustained notes to enhance momentum, Hengelbrock

employs rising and falling (or, on occasion, just falling) patterns to impede it.

The patterns in section II are more unanimous, but the feeling of impeded

momentum is still present. The 9th variation begins with a crescendo, but it subsides

after the first downbeat in bar 30. The 10th variation begins louder, drops almost

immediately, then picks up again for a short-lived forte in bar 35. As I noted on p. 231

above, it is possible to encompass the commencement of this variation and the

melodic high point within the same, sustained forte (cf. Rilling 1977, Corboz 1979,

Harnoncourt 1986, Christophers). Hengelbrock, however, deliberately avoids this,

creating a sense of strain on the soprano’s high C (bar 33) and E (bar 35) alike.

A more constant dynamic peak is maintained in the 10th and 11th variations,

intensified by greater orchestral presence, though their non legato articulation (also

surfacing in the choir) still maintains a sense of effort. The drop to piano in bars 44-45

(generated by the tenor’s “etiam pro NO-bis”) is coupled with a more consistent

legato in the last 8 bars, reminiscent of the smoother contours of Hengelbrock’s

Incarnatus. That movement is more unusual in the context of the performance as a

whole in its predominantly legato articulation, throwing the heaviness and impeded

momentum of the Crucifixus into sharper relief. The Resurrexit (one of the fastest on

record, following a Crucifixus which, at least among HIP readings, is among the

slowest) is confident and forward-surging, with few internal contrasts.

In the broadest of outlines, then, Hengelbrock follows the “traditional”

trajectory which sees the 10th-11th-variations sequence as the height of the Crucifixus.

Each of the preceding “paragraphs” commences more fully than the preceding one,

suggesting an upward trajectory for the entire movement. But the realisation of this

shape is almost diametrically opposed to Rilling’s (1977): where the latter shaped a

continuous crescendo that cut across all changes in texture, Hengelbrock brings out a

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constant sense of struggle and interruption, in which changes in texture and relations

between the voices fill an important role (especially in section I).

9.3. Summary

The Crucifixus (and the triptych of which it is the central panel) is often

considered the heart of the Mass; in several readings, it emerges as a unique moment.

In others, the Crucifixus is more typical of the performance as a whole, but still

presents the interpreters’ expressive ends and means particularly vividly. This

movement is therefore particularly useful for examining changing approaches to the

projection of Intensity in Bach’s music.

For the most part, recordings in 1950-1980 treat the Crucifixus within a “Unity

of Affect” paradigm, sometimes extending this concept to encompass the Incarnatus

as well. The two pre-war recordings (Bairstow and Coates) feature clear internal

contrasts, but this option was abandoned even by the more “romantic” post-war

conductors. Most readings from this period are characterised by a moment-to-moment

nuance (especially in dynamics), but do not attempt an overall structure (the most

notable counter-example being Karl Richter).

As often, the advent of HIP approaches has widened the interpretive range. The

claim that HIP musicians are more restrained in their expression is not entirely

unfounded (as evidenced in readings like Harnoncourt 1968, Parrott, Herreweghe

1988, and Koopman). But this is only one side of the narrative. Greater attention to

texture, to the independent shaping of each part, has not only led to greater local

nuance, but also (in some cases) to a clearer realisation of the textural contrasts

between the movement’s sections. It has also led to a shift of emphasis from bars 45

to bars 33-35 as the high point of tension in the movement (though several

performances attempt to encompass both).

In some cases, this has led to a modification of the more traditional approach:

different nuances placed within the context of a rounded, legato approach. In others, it

resulted in performances which bring out a sense of internal tension. Even a relatively

rounded performance such as Christophers’ brought out the potential positive

feedback between Complexity and Intensity; readings like Harnoncourt’s and

Hengelbrock’s have taken this further.

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In the latter cases, this probably relates to the interpreters’ belief in rhetoric-as-

semantics. Harnoncourt does not provide a verbal imagery for this movement;

Hengelbrock’s words are rich in atmosphere but not in pictorial or lexical details.

Nonetheless, both interpretations clearly articulate a vision in which every factor in

the music carries deep significance and should be realised accordingly.

Taruskin has implied that a vitalist reading of this movement is one which

would actively draw the listener’s attention to “Bach’s rhetoric of chromaticism,

dissonance, and melodic descent”; Harnoncourt and Hengelbrock alike approximate

this description more closely than any modern-instrument version. Their readings

seem to exemplify a knife-edge-balance approach: they project internal discomfort,

even struggle, but not violent outbursts. Thomas’s defiantly theatrical reading (and

similar ones, notably Fasolis’), with its sometimes violent gestures, arguably display a

vision of Bach’s music which goes beyond even “knife-edge” balance.

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10. Summary My aim in this dissertation has been to explore aspects of Bach’s reception-

through-performance, and to test some of the methodological problems inherent in

such an investigation. Here, I want to survey some of the main conclusions, and point

out notable omissions and potential directions for future investigation.

10.1. Historical conclusions

My main conclusion is that, in the last two decades of the 20th century, there has

been an expansion of the range of expressive means in Bach performance, affected

partly by the rise of HIP and by ideas of rhetorical performance. These changes are

also related to the emergence of more “humanised” Bach images.

Most performances of the Mass between 1950 and 1980 display the hallmarks

of the x/- spectrum of approaches, in which Complexity and Unity were considered

more important – at least in the context of performative realisation – than Intensity.

This reflects the partial convergence of different Bach images – primarily the

religious and abstract-mathematical views. This convergence is particularly

pronounced with reference to performance. The view that extra-musical meaning and

emotional expression are marginal to Bach’s music; hermeneutical interpretations that

view it in terms of “Symbols of Ideas”, rather than “Symbols of Feeling” (see p. 88f

above); interpretations that speak of an emotional expression so powerful that it can

speak for itself without the performer’s aid – these views represents different visions

of the music, but converge on a restrictive, x/- approach to its realisation in sound.

The growing propensity towards literalism at the time is also a significant factor.

During this period, there was at least a partial consensus on what constitutes

expression in performance (e.g., intense sound; wide dynamic range with much

application of wave dynamics; rich nuance; rubato). Those who argued that such

techniques were inappropriate for Bach’s music (and/or Baroque music generally) did

not propose alternative means of expression. They simply narrowed the range of

“legitimate” expressive means available for this music.1

1 Most exceptions to this general rule can be found in recordings by non-Germanic performers (e.g., Robert Shaw, Michel Corboz, Neville Marriner). It should be noted, however, that Herbert von Karajan seems to place sensuous sonority ahead of clarity in both of his commercial recordings.

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The advent of HIP, at least from the late 1960s onwards, resulted in two

contrasting developments. On the one hand, one can diagnose a “leer[iness] of the

profound or the sublime” resulting in a decidedly “lightweight” approach (Taruskin

1995: 167). On the other hand, there is a growing awareness of tensions between

opposing factors, leading to more dramatic interpretations.

Both tendencies are related to a more flexible projection of local directionality,

and to greater attention to local detail and nuance, with greater variety of articulation,

accentuation, dynamics and agogics within phrases. In lighter readings (e.g., Parrott,

Koopman), this is associated with a narrow overall dynamic range, light textures,

faster tempi and less differentiation and contrast between phrases and movements.

More dramatic performances (e.g., Harnoncourt 1986, Hengelbrock, J. Thomas)

employ a wider overall range of tempi, dynamics and timbre, exploring powerful

contrasts alongside subtle, local inflections.

The latter tendency is coupled with the emergence of new (or renewed) means

of expression, partly related to the growing influence of musico-rhetorical theories on

performance. In verbal reception, the recognition of the role of motives and figures in

Baroque musical expression, and Bach’s in particular, can be traced back to the early

20th century; this has often been translated into an atomistic approach to analysis,

focusing on local details and downplaying the importance of long-range formal-

harmonic tensions. Some writers – notably Schweitzer – regarded such atomism as a

key to performance. Figurenlehre theorists, however, usually promoted a +/-

philosophy (if they considered performance at all). Under HIP influence, however,

notions of musical rhetoric have increasingly inspired performances which projected

varied intensity within movements (in contradistinction to the uniform intensity which

had characterised earlier performances). These trends have been, however, intensely

controversial – in analysis and performance alike.

More recently, these developments have inspired (or legitimised) the revival of

more traditional means of expression. Broad legati, long-range crescendi and

diminuendi, and organic shaping of movements as wholes – all previously associated

with romantic approaches to Bach – have been increasingly adopted by HIP

musicians, sometimes at the expense of the localised inflections, sometimes alongside

them. This culminated in what I labelled the neo-romantic approach – a category

which requires, however, further investigation and refinement.

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While the advent of HIP generally widened the expressive spectrum in Bach

performance, it also contributed to the marginalization of at least one approach:

“monumental” readings – combining slow tempi, large ensembles, bass-heavy

sonorities, and a rigid approach to tempo, dynamics and articulation – are virtually

absent from the Mass’s recent discography. Even “traditional”, “mainstream”

musicians are increasingly adopting HIP techniques, the most notable illustration

discussed in this dissertation being Helmuth Rilling’s stylistic transformation; similar

tendencies can be noted in Biller’s, Ozawa’s and Abbado’s recordings, among others.

To some extent, these recent trends can be related to a general “humanisation”

of Bach’s image in verbal reception. While the perfected image of Bach as a nearly-

infallible composer, concerned more with God and/or Nature than with human

emotion, is still highly prevalent (see, for example, Wolff 2000), several recent

studies attempt to portray him more as a human being. This approach does not merely

reflect the presentation of Bach’s biography: it also entails a more nuanced and

contextualized, less perfected image of his music (cf. McClary 1987; Dreyfus 1996,

1997; Marshall 2000; Yearsley 2002; Williams 2004). This did not necessarily entail a

marginalization of Bach’s religious convictions, but rather a rejection of the link

between religiosity and austerity (as is evident in the views of musicians as diverse as

Harnoncourt, Koopman and Jeffrey Thomas). The virtual abandonment of the

deliberately rigid, almost statuesque approach to performance (applying the ideal of

“terraces” even beyond dynamics), in favour of greater attention to motion,

momentum and directionality, could be seen as a performative corollary to this.

The stereotypic view that HIP renditions are deliberately lightweight and

inconsequential thus proves one-sided. Ironically, both a lowering and a heightening

of Intensity are consistent with the efforts to take Bach “off the pedestal”, and recent

performances, mostly HIP or HIP-inspired, have demonstrated both tendencies.

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10.2. Methodological conclusions One of the main purposes of this dissertation was the comparison between

verbal discourse and performance. In Part One, the verbal discourse consisted

primarily of statements by the musicians themselves; in Part Two, I focused on

analyses and commentaries on the music performed. It is worth examining whether,

and how, the two types of discourse illuminate each other.

10.2.1. Premises and practices

The performers in Part One were grouped according to intentional rather than

stylistic criteria. In Chapters 3-5, I brought together performers who shared certain

verbally-expressed views, rather than performative-stylistic traits. In chapters 2-4, the

performers also shared a common background (a criterion which, if applied

consistently, would have placed Ton Koopman in chapter 4). Only in chapter 6 did the

initial impulse to place two musicians under the same heading arise from a musical

stimulus; but there, too, I demonstrated Thomas’s and Hengelbrock’s common

commitment to a strongly individualised, +/+ performance aesthetics, and their

placing of the needs of present-day listeners above the demands of historical propriety

(the latter issue being among my primary justifications for applying the neo-romantic

label).

The first conclusion that arises from an overview of Part One is that similarity in

performers’ verbally-expressed views is not necessarily reflected in similar

performance styles. For example, while Rilling’s verbal discourse has changed little

over the past two decades, his performance style has undergone a radical

transformation; and Philippe Herreweghe’s early advocacy of a rhetorical

performance style is hard to reconcile with his actual performances. In the case of

Herreweghe (as well as Karl Richter), I hypothesised that the musicians’ later

statements represent a greater degree of self-awareness of their position vis-à-vis the

traditions they emerged from, and of their own stylistic development. In the case of

Harnoncourt, on the other hand, there is a close proximity between verbally-stated

ideals and his performance style (at least since the late 1970s), a sense in which the

two illuminate each other.

These examinations confirm what one would suspect in any case: that

performers’ stated ideals cannot, in themselves, be used to predict their approach in

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practice (see also Butt 2002a: 42). More often, the performance would illuminate the

verbal discourse, clarifying what performers might have meant in their employment of

certain terms or images, or showing how they prioritise between conflicting demands

they expresses in words.

Within the performers’ verbal discourse, one of my main interests has been in

the relation between their views of Bach’s music on the one hand, and of their own

role as interpreters on the other; in particular, whether they sought to realise the

music’s full expressive potential, or advocated and/or practised restraint. Very few

performers (and none within my Part One core-group) adhere to a -/- view of Bach’s

music, but several adhere to an x/- view or (in the case of the musicians discussed in

chapter 5) an understated version of x/x. The examination of these issues allows one,

at the very least, to form expectations on the extent to which the musicians’ renditions

– especially their willingness to employ the techniques which they regard as

generating expression – fully reflects their conception of the music’s shape and

meaning.

Even when performances confound expectations, interesting points could

emerge, especially if one takes care to examine the musician’s statements and

performances alike within a broader context. Helmuth Rilling, for example, has

always adhered to an x/x philosophy; in his 1979 book on the Mass, he repeatedly

exhorts performers to trace the ebb-and-flow of tension within the music. His earlier

performances, however, often display an internal rigidity which belies this ideal. In

my view, this disparity might represent the tension between Rilling’s aesthetics and

his initial adoption of a performance style better-suited for the projection of strict

Unity of Affect. His 1999 Mass reflects clear HIP influences – and also realises his

1979 suggestions more consistently than his earlier recordings; this is yet another

testimony to the way HIP has expanded the expressive options for Bach performance.

My working assumption is that performers’ public verbal statements constitute a

genuine effort on their part to account for their artistic motivations, to explain why

they perform the music the way they do. However, verbal discourse might also

purport to affect the listening process, to direct the listener’s attention to particular

features in music and performance alike (most explicitly when the performer’s

statements form part of a recording’s liner-notes). My own approach reflects this: the

performers’ words have partly directed my enquiries and affected my listening – not

only to their own renditions, but to other performers’ as well.

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10.2.2. Interpretation “in theory” and “in practice”

In Part Two, I cited analyses and hermeneutic interpretations of the movements

I discussed: a series of CIs, to introduce and complement my discussion of PIs (to use

Levinson’s terminology; see p. 12 above). If the relationship between the same

musician’s words and practices proved less than straightforward, the potential

problems increase here, since some of the authors cited had no direct relationship with

any of the performers discussed.

My aim was not just to explore potential correspondences between the content

of analyses and the shapes and meanings suggested by performance; style and rhetoric

are also important. Two verbal commentaries can divide and interpret a movement in

similar ways; yet their rhetoric – dry and careful in one, richly metaphoric in another

– could suggest different ways of hearing. Similarly, two performances can draw

attention to the same features in the music (emphasising the same motives and

strands, building up towards a climax in the same spot), yet project a different

expressive ambience (for example, see my comparison of Jacobs and Hickox in the

Second Kyrie, p. 212 above).

In several cases, I concluded that performances suggested interpretive options

which had not been explored in any of the verbal commentaries I read. In others, I

attempted to trace an analogy between PIs and CIs based solely on a comparison

between them, rather than on historical evidence (see, for example, between

Harnoncourt’s 1986 readings of the Second Kyrie, Crucifixus and Resurrexit and

Spitta’s discussion of the same movements; see pp. 213ff and 237 above).

Such comparisons demonstrate both the potentials and the dangers of allowing

oneself to compare verbal discourse and musical performance even when no links

between writer and performers can be demonstrated conclusively. It is possible – even

likely – that Harnoncourt has read Spitta’s book; however, this does not necessarily

mean that he has read the chapter on the Mass in great depth, still less that this

directly affected his performances. The analogies I proposed between Spitta’s words

and Harnoncourt’s performances are more likely to point to a similar artistic

temperament: Harnoncourt and Spitta heard the music in a similar way because both

of them tend to seek profound extra-musical messages, and to think in metaphors;

they come particularly close in the Triptych since, in this case, Spitta went further

than usual in employing richly metaphoric language.

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The Spitta/Harnoncourt analogy, however, is part of a larger hypothesis I

presented in this dissertation (cf. pp. 158, 197f, 224 and 246f above): that highly-

expressive, knife-edge-balance interpretations of Bach’s music (and particularly the

Mass or movements therein), presented by 19th- and early 20th-century writers, are

more closely reflected in recent HIP versions than in most earlier versions. For the

most part, it is difficult to trace an actual influence here: it is easier, for example, to

prove that Harnoncourt’s performance style was directly influenced by Schering than

to postulate a link between Harnoncourt and Kurth, Adorno, or even Schweitzer. Nor

could I always point to specific performance recommendations by these writers that

rhetorical performers – especially Harnoncourt and Hengelbrock – have followed

(see, however, p. 94 above). All I could point to was a similarity between certain

features in these writers’ analysis of Bach, the verbal discourse of performers like

Harnoncourt and Hengelbrock, and the way these performers have inflected and

highlighted certain features in the music.

More research is required to probe the validity and significance of such

analogies. Such an inquiry would have to encompass a wider repertoire than the B

minor Mass, or even Bach’s vocal works tout court.2

10.3. Ideas for Further Research In assessing my proposed narrative, it should be remembered that I was unable

to listen to all recordings of the Mass, and that the work’s discography has some

lacunas. In discussing the greater stylistic diversity in recent years, for example, one

must remember that the number of recordings has also increased: of the 101 complete

commercial recordings listed in my discography, 63 were recorded after 1980. In the

pre-1980 period, several important documents are missing: there are, for example, no

recordings of the Mass by Siegfried Ochs, Adolf Busch, Donald Tovey, Wilhelm

Ehmann, or Arthur Mendel. My narrative could have been altered had such recordings

2 For one thing, one would need to investigate the types of performance that writers like Spitta, Schweitzer and Kurth were likely to be familiar with. For the latter two writers, this would involve an investigation into early recordings of Bach’s instrumental music (including, of course, Schweitzer’s own recordings of Bach’s organ works); for Spitta and other 19th-century writers, one would have to rely on written sources – from reviews and performance treatises to editions and performers’ marked scores.

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existed, or if I had had the chance to listen to several existing recordings that I had

been unable to access.

The developments I outlined above – the expansion of the expressive spectrum

towards greater lightness and greater (and different) Intensity alike – could be related

to more general trends, or indeed to global patterns or “pendulum swings” between

what is variously described as “ethos” and “pathos”, “classicism” and “romanticism”,

and so forth. The assumption that we have been entering a more “romantic” phase – in

music and in art generally – has already been cited is discussions of changing

performance styles in the 1980s and 1990s (Kenyon 1988b: 17; Hudson 1994: 436-

439; Taruskin 1995: 149). More specifically, these developments can be accounted for

with reference to at least three related factors: reactions against previous trends;

increasing interest in, and knowledge of, historical performance practices (applied,

however, with increasing freedom and selectiveness and with a more critical approach

to the evidence); and the impact of rhetorical theories on performance.

While my dissertation has touched upon all these issues, the thrust of my

argument focuses on the last. This reflects my own research slant. My dissertation has

focused on Bach’s vocal music. The core group for Part One consisted primarily of

performers who expressed their views verbally, as well as through performance. Part

Two examined the relationship between verbal and musical interpretation, focusing on

movements which inspired myriad symbolic and emotional interpretations. I thus

focused on the reflection of symbolism, hermeneutics and expressive analysis in

performance; the centrality of musical rhetoric to the resulting narrative is hardly

surprising. Consequently, I may have under-emphasised other factors of direct

relevance to the issue expression and meaning in Mass’s discography, which would

require further study.

10.3.1. Further case studies within the Mass

Below, I present additional perspectives that could enhance the discussion of the

Mass’s history on record, with particular reference to my main concerns in this

dissertation – the exploration of expression, meaning, and the relationship between

performance and other modes of reception. Some of these issues are touched upon in

my dissertation, but they have not been central to it.

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10.3.1.1. The role of performance practice research

The correlation between performers’ choices and the historical information

available to them has not been central to my investigation. I discussed the choice of

tempi, for example, in terms of its aesthetic and expressive impact, without focusing

on whether a given tempo might be considered historically credible, and on what

grounds.

A discussion of these topics cannot merely consist of a comparison between the

performers’ choice of various factors (tempo, size of ensemble, scoring – especially of

the alto part and the continuo, etc.) and currently available knowledge on 18th-century

performances practices. It is important to assess the information available to these

performers, and to determine their own adherence to an MO-HIP ideology. Only on

this basis can one decide whether a given choice represents a preference for one

historical source over another, an aesthetic choice made independently of historical

considerations, or a conscious flouting of historical practices (for studies that proceed

along such lines, see Sherman 2000; Ornoy 2001; Fabian 2003; cf. p. 254 below). A

more detailed examination along these lines could well lead to a revision of my

analysis of “neo-romantic” approaches.

10.3.1.2. The choice of texts

In the case of the Mass, particular attention could be devoted to the choice of

texts. The Mass has a complex philological history (Rifkin 1982a, 2001; Butt 1991:

29-38; Stauffer 1997b: 267-269; Wolff 1997: 406). While most performers have opted

for an existing edition, several (e.g., Harnoncourt, Parrott, Rifkin, Rilling) have either

prepared their own editions or examined an existing edition against the sources. The

issue is not just determining Bach’s intentions and isolating his own notation from

later interferences (a complex matter in itself), but deciding which of his intentions to

include (e.g., when information from the 1733 Dresden parts conflicts with later

revisions to the autograph score). Editors’ and performers’ choice as to which

interpretation of the source seems more plausible could reflect on their own aesthetic

and ideological preferences.

The issues are of particular importance in the Domine deus and the Et in unum.

In both cases, the performers’ choices reflect aesthetic and ideological considerations,

as well as philological ones. In the Et in unum, the arguments in favour of the original

version (including the words “Et in unum”) often focus on its ostensibly tighter text-

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music relationship.3 In the Domine deus, the objections to inserting reverse-dotting (in

accordance with the evidence of the Dresden parts; see Herz 1985: 221-229) could be

seen as a challenge to the sacred-Germanic-serious image of Bach – both musically

(in its potentially “jumpy” character) and by stylistic associations (the use of reverse-

dotting as evidence of Bach’s emulation of contemporaneous French music; cf. ibid:

254-255; Stauffer 1997b: 246-248).

10.3.1.3. The treatment of “secular” influences

The “Fifth Evangelist” and related images tend to downplay, even deny, the role

of secular genres and influences in Bach’s sacred music – from the impact of dance

rhythms to concertante, virtuoso writing (see, for example, Gurlitt 1957: 63-65, 100-

101 and passim). More recent writers have been more open in their acknowledgement

and investigation of these aspects, a development reflected in (and quite possibly

encouraged by) HIP renditions. A detailed examination of this subject would entail

focusing on a different selection of movements than those I selected for Part Two.

Some of the best illustrations within the Mass can be found in arias (for

example, the treatment of instrumental and vocal virtuosity in the Laudamus, or the

dance element in the Qui sedes; see also pp. 80f above).4 Indeed, a certain suspicion

towards arias – as expressions of individualism and potential sites for operatic and

other secular influences – has affected the Mass’s verbal reception (cf. Emery 1954;

Keller 1957: 86). An investigation of the extent of this attitude, the arguments for and

against it, and the debate’s possible ramifications for performance (and vice versa),

could enhance the examination of several of the issues raised in this dissertation (e.g.,

the contrast between the “fifth evangelist” and humanised images of Bach). In

conjunction with the case-studies examined in Part Two, it could also facilitate an

examination of performers’ approach to expressive contrasts in Bach’s music.

3 The most famous oft-quoted discussion of text-music relationship in the original version is Friedrich Smend (1936: 54-55; 1954: 147-149, 153-155); see also: Spitta 1889, III: 51-52; Tovey 1937: 38-39; Blankenburg 1974: 71-72; Marshall 1989: 182-183; Butt 1991: 52-53; Stauffer 1997b: 113-115; Hengel and Houten 2004: 97-104. 4 However, useful illustrations can also be found among the so-called trumpet choruses, which clearly display secular and instrumental influences. The Gloria and Resurrexit, for example, might have been based on lost Italian-style instrumental concerti (Butt 1991: 46, 55); the Osanna is based on a movement from a secular cantata (BWV 215/1). A study of these movements’ history on record could focus on the degree and manner in which performers emphasised or downplayed their potential evocation of “some form of worldly rejoicing [and] euphoria” (Butt 1991: 55).

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10.3.1.4. Expressive contrasts (Confiteor)

Arguably the best case study for the latter subject within the Mass is the

Confiteor/Expecto sequence, which consists of three highly contrasting sections. It

thus provides an opportunity to explore how musicians respond to the implicit

demand for immediate expressive contrasts without mediating pauses.

Another consideration in this context is that Bach provided several tempo or

character indications: the alla-breve time signature in the Confiteor, the “Adagio”

marking in bar 121, and the “Vivace ed allegro” marking at the beginning of the D-

major Et expecto. There has been some debate on whether these indications are a

deliberate injunction for contrasting tempi, or whether they merely require a change of

character within a largely unaltered tempo (cf. Stauffer 1997b: 239-240, and p. 101

above). The recorded legacy reveals another implicit controversy, concerning the

location and type of tempo changes: while some performances present sudden

changes of tempo (and, often, dynamics and timbre) precisely at the points where the

indications are given at the score, others affect a more gradual transition. Issues of

expressive contrasts thus converge on the question of how to decipher the composer’s

performance instructions, and how literally to follow them (see also p. 23n above).

10.3.1.5. Symbolism and expression (Et in unum)

One of the key issues in my discussion of Bach reception has been the tendency

to view his music in terms of “symbols idea” rather than “symbols of feeling”. In Part

Two, this issue was not explored in detail, although it did surface in the context of the

First Kyrie’s subject and the Incarnatus.

Perhaps the best candidate for exploring this issue within the Mass is the duet Et

in unum. This movement is often viewed as a richly symbolic but not particularly

intense movement (e.g., Spitta 1889, III: 52; Schweitzer 1911 [1908], II: 319; Emery

1954); some commentators, indeed, have found it dry and inexpressive (e.g., Parry

1909: 316; Terry 1931: 41; Dickinson 1950: 198).

In short, it is often viewed as rich in “symbols of ideas”, but short on “symbols

of feeling”. Despite this, several performances attempt to project a lyrical or intense

interpretation of the movement (cf. Tovey 1937: 39; Mellers 1980: 215-217), or to

forge a developmental expressive narrative – from a cheerful or matter-of-fact

beginning to a more lyrical or intense conclusion.

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This movement, then, allows the exploration of several issues, and their

interactions, among them:

1. The choice of text, where the original source materials are ambiguous –

and its interpretive ramification;

2. The performative response to music which does not have a clear,

consensually-accepted Affekt;

3. The realisation of abstract symbolism;5

4. The relationship between structural features and affect.6

10.3.2. Comparisons with other repertoire

In Part One, I examined several conductors’ interpretations of the Mass in the

context of their general approach to Bach’s music (particularly his vocal music); I did

not elaborate on their treatment of other repertoires. Such an examination, however,

could shed light upon their treatment of Bach. For example, several writers consider

Bach less expressive than other (especially later) composers; more thorough

investigations are needed to see which performances reflect this view, and how.

There is also considerable interest in examining which other repertoires these

musicians perform. For example, most mainstream conductors and ensembles treat

Bach as a starting point – performing virtually no music by his predecessors, and very

little by his contemporaries. On the other hand, HIP musicians (and Bach experts like

Richter and Rilling) are more familiar with earlier Baroque and (in several cases)

Renaissance music. Direct familiarity, through performing experience, with the styles

that Bach studied and emulated is bound to affect performers’ treatment of Bach’s

own music, and it would be interesting to explore this issue. For example, one could

investigate Adorno’s oft-quoted complaint “they say Bach, mean Telemann” (1967:

145) by examining those musicians who recorded music by both composers, and

checking whether, and how, they differentiate between them.

5 In this case, the treatment of the canon – which has been interpreted as a symbol for the Father and Son, but also as “a simulated echo, common in love duets” (Stauffer 1997b: 113). 6 Several of the performances which attempt a developmental, expressively-varied treatment of this movement – most notably Hengelbrock’s reading – rely partially on underlining the subtle transformation of thematic materials, especially in the ritornelli (see also Butt 1991: 66-68).

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10.3.3. Performers’ intentions: Further sources

The issue of the relationship between the performers’ intentions and their actual

performances was among the focal points of my study. I investigated it primarily

through a comparison of their public verbal statements with their recorded

performances, and by examining the performers’ biographies and possible sources of

influence. I also touched upon other issues, such as auditioning, rehearsal and

recording procedures, and the musicians’ professional standards.

Several of these areas of inquiry could be extended to gain further insight on

whether the performances, as preserved on disc, indeed represent the performers’

desired interpretation at the time of the recording, and the respective influence of

input from various participants (singers, instrumentalists, conductor, recording

production team). These could include a systematic investigation of available

information on preparatory procedures (auditions, rehearsals, recording and post-

taping sessions) and extensive interviews with performers. Comparisons with tapes of

live concerts by the same musicians could also provide valuable materials.

10.3.4. Objectivity, subjectivity and inter-subjectivity

As I noted in the introduction ( 1.5, pp. 31ff above), the analyses in this

dissertation are based primarily upon my own listening. I did attempt to supplement

my personal experience through an examination of record reviews and by comparing

notes with other listeners. Both these approaches could be pursued more

systematically. I was a subject in a listening experiment, designed jointly by a

musicologist (Dorottya Fabian) and a music psychologist (Emery Schubert),

examining how listeners of various backgrounds understood terms such as

“expressive” and “stylish” with reference (primarily) to Bach performances (see also

p. 44 above). Such studies could provide a useful perspective on current usage of such

terms, and on present-day reception of styles and performances. They are, however, of

limited historical value.

Record and concert reviews (my own investigation was limited to the former)

are more useful for gauging contemporaneous reactions; reviews of re-issues can help

demonstrate how reactions have changed. Additionally, information on record and

ticket sales might provide some indications of a performance’s popularity – although

it would give little indication regarding the specific factors that made the audience

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prefer one performer over another, and the role of promotion and advertising would

also need to be taken into account.

* * *

I hope that this dissertation has demonstrated some of the ways in which

performers affect and shape music’s expressive impact and meaning. My aim was to

suggest the outlines of a “hermeneutic history” (Bowen 1999: 446) of the Mass by

combining the resources of reception and performance studies. Beyond my specific

historical conclusions, I hope to have demonstrated that such an examination presents

unique insights into Bach’s music, its meaning and its role in our culture.

Inevitably, the historical scope of my survey was limited by the availability of

recorded evidence. A survey of recordings cannot, for example, document the process

of the B minor Mass’s canonisation: by the time the first recording was made, the

Mass’s position in the canon had already been firmly established.

In his survey of Bach reception, Friedrich Blume wrote:

once the greatness of a man has been acknowledged it is never in serious danger, even though the ‘image’ which each succeeding generation creates for itself is subject to the strongest possible variations. (Blume 1950b: 10)

This observation might not be universally applicable, but it certainly holds for the

performers I discussed in this dissertation: they all share a love and admiration for

Bach, but they often project radically different images of his music, revealing that

they do not necessarily value him for the same reasons.

Arguably, this variety in itself demonstrates the multi-faceted character of

Bach’s music; its susceptibility to re-interpretation has, at the very least, contributed

to its continued endurance and vitality in the musical canon. A detailed examination

of the Mass’s changing identity, as preserved in its recorded history, thus reveals

something about the changing concerns and priorities in our culture, as reflected in

performing musicians’ efforts to remain faithful to Bach’s musical heritage – while

continually re-shaping it in our own image.

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Bibliography This bibliography aims to constitute a comprehensive list of all the books and

articles I consulted in the course of my research, whether cited in the main text or not.

I made an exception to this rule, however, with regard to record reviews, recording

liner notes, and press interviews with performers.

In the course of my research, I surveyed all reviews of recordings of the B

minor Mass – and many reviews of other Bach recordings – published in

Gramophone, Records in Review (a yearbook gathering all record reviews featured in

High Fidelity magazine the previous year), American Record Review, Goldberg, and

Fono Forum, as well as many articles and interviews included in these journals. I also

consulted the liner notes of all the recordings cited in my discography, wherever

possible.1 The bibliography, however, lists only those reviews, interviews and liner

notes directly cited in the main text.

When citing an interview consisting merely of questions and answers, I list it

under the interviewee’s name (e.g., Harnoncourt 1986, Koopman 2003). When the

interview is presented as an extended article, featuring substantial contributions by the

author-interviewer, I list it under the author-interviewer’s name (e.g., Stephen

Johnson 1990).

When citing recording liner notes or a review of a recording of the B minor

Mass, I indicate this by giving the name of conductor and year of recording,

underlined. Thus, “Review of Harnoncourt 1986” should be read as “Review of

Nikolaus Harnoncourt’s 1986 recording of the B minor Mass, as listed under the title

‘Harnoncourt 1986’ in the first part of the discography”. When citing recording liner

notes for a recording listed in the second part of the discography, I include the

relevant citation within the bibliographical entry.

All multi-author collections are cited under the editor’s name. This includes

editions of Grove’s Dictionary (Grove 1899, Colles 1927, Sadie 1981, Macy 2003),

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Encyclopaedia of Aesthetics (Kelly 1998).

1 As I note in the introduction to the discography, I was unable to access several recordings of the Mass, and in some cases the liner notes were missing from the copies I consulted.

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For the editions of the B minor Mass I consulted, see under Rietz 1865, Volbach

[n.d.], Smend 1956 and 1988 [1954], and Wolff 1997. I also consulted the digital

facsimiles, available on http://www.bachdigital.de/, of the original autograph score

(Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin, Mus. ms. Bach P 180) and of the 1733 performing parts of

the Kyrie and Gloria (Sächsische Landesbibliothek-, Staats- und

Universitätsbibliothek, Dresden, Mus. 2405-D-21).

* * *

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–––––. 1985. “The Kantor, the Kapellmeister and the Musical Scholar: Remarks on the History and Performance of Bach’s Mass in B Minor”. Notes to Gardiner 1985: 18-27. Translated by Mary Whittall. German original: “Kantorenmusik, Kapellmeisterstil und gelehrte Kunst: Anmerkungen zu Geschichte und Aufführungspraxis von Bachs h-moll-Messe” (ibid: 6-17).

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–––––. 1990. “Bach’s B Minor Mass: Historic Perspectives; Remarks on the edition” Notes to Brüggen 1989: 8-15. Translated by Mary Adams. German original: “Bachs h-moll-Messe: Geschichtlichen Perspektiven; Bemerkungen zur Edition” (ibid: 16-24).

––––––. 1991. Bach: Essays on his Life and Music. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press.

–––––. 1994. “‘Et Incarnatus’ and ‘Crucifixus’: The Earliest and Latest Settings of Bach’s B-Minor Mass”. In Mary Ann Parker (ed.), Eighteenth-Century Music in Theory and Practice: Essays in Honour of Alfred Mann (Stuyvesant, New York: Pendragon Press): 1-17.

–––––. 1995. Notes to Koopman 1994: 6-11 (German original), 16-21 (English translation by “Byword”).

–––––. 1997. “Nachwort/Postface” to Study Score version of his edition of the B minor Mass (Frankfurt, Leipzig, London and New York: C. F Peters): 399-403 (German), 404-408 (English).

––––– (ed). 1998a. The New Bach Reader: A Life of Johann Sebastian Bach in Letters and Documents. London and New York: Norton. A revised and enlarged edition of The Bach Reader, ed. Hans T. David and Arthur Mendel (London and New York: Norton, 1972).

–––––. 1998b. “Bach’s chorus: stomach aches may disappear!”. Early Music 26/3 (August 1998): 540-541.

––––– (ed.). 1999a. Die Gegenwart der musikalischen Vergangenheit: Meisterwerke in der Dirigenten-Werkstatt. Salzburg and Vienna: Residenz Verlag.

–––––. 1999b. “Die Gegenwart der musikalischen Vergangenheit: Historisch-orientierte Aufführungspraxis vom Neoklassizismus zur Postmoderne – Eine Einleitung”. In Wolff 1999a: 9-20.

–––––. 1999c. “Bach’s chorus: An Amplification”. Early Music 27/1 (February 1999): 172.

–––––. 2000. Johann Sebastian Bach: The Learned Musician. New York: Norton.

–––––. 2003. “Bach, Johann Sebastian, §7-§21”. In Macy 2003.

Wollny, Peter. 1993. “Mass In B minor”. Notes to Max 1992: 6-12 (German original),13-19 (English translation by Lionel Salter).

Wood, Henry. 1938. My Life of Music. London: Gollancz.

Woods, C., G. Luck, R. Brochard, F. Seddon and J. A. Sloboda (eds.). 2000. ICMPC 2000: Proceedings of the Sixth International Conference on Music Perception and Cognition (Keele, UK, August 2000). CD-ROM. Keele: Keele University.

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Worbs, Hans Christoph. 1985. “Bach im Mittelpunkt: Die Neue Bach-Edition und die Edition Bach Leipzig im Vergleich”. Fono Forum 29/3 (March 1985): 20-25.

Wörner, Roland. 2001. Karl Richter, 1926-1981 – Musik mit dem Herzen: Eine Dokumentation aus Anlass seines 75. Geburtstags. Munich: Panisken Verlag.

Woss, Egon. 1987. Review of Harnoncourt 1986. Fono Forum, February 1987: 47.

Yearsley, David. 2002. Bach and the Meanings of Counterpoint. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Zenck, Martin. 1997. “Bach reception: some concepts and parameters”. In Butt 1997a: 218-225.

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Discography

Section 1: Recordings of the B minor Mass

This section aims to list all complete commercial recordings of the B minor

Mass. Additionally, it lists three incomplete recordings, and eight non-commercial

recordings, which I consulted in the course of my research. The list contains 112

items, arranged chronologically by recording date. An alphabetical index can be found

at the end of the dissertation.

For the purpose of this discography, I defined “commercial recording” as a

recording which has been available commercially at some point in time. This list

therefore includes several recordings that were initially intended for broadcast, rather

than commercial release, but which were subsequently published. Of these, I

consulted only Enescu 1951, Richter 1969a and Giulini 1972. There is also one studio

recording which was abandoned before the editing stage (Klemperer 1961).

This list includes 33 recordings which I was not able to consult, yet for which I

was able to obtain complete or partial details. These are marked by an asterisk (*).

Non-commercial recordings are marked (~). With one exception (Rifkin 1997),

these were recordings of BBC Radio 3 broadcasts, which I accessed at the British

Library Sound Archive (BLSA). I therefore list their British Library (BL) shelf

numbers in lieu of the recording catalogue number.

When listing re-issued recordings, I endeavour to include at least one of the

recording’s original catalogue numbers. By labelling one or more re-issues as

“Copy/copies consulted”, I am stating that I only consulted the edition or editions

cited under that rubric; by labelling one or more re-issues as “Additional copy/copies

consulted”, I am stating that I also consulted the edition cited under “Original

Catalogue number”. When I did not consult the original issue myself, I obtained the

original catalogue numbers from the Schwann Catalogue (unless otherwise stated).

Details on the size of ensembles are based on the recording liner notes, unless

otherwise indicated. In three cases (Harnoncourt 1968, Gardiner 1985, Rilling 1999),

the documentation explicitly states that, in several movements, only part of the

ensemble was used. I am aware that this might be true of other recordings as well (for

example, the size of the orchestra might have been reduced in some of the arias).

- 298 -

The term “soloists” refers to singers who, to the best of my knowledge, only

took part in arias and duets. The term “concertists” refers to singers who took part in

choruses, arias and duets alike.

When the copies I consulted did not supply the names of the participating

ensembles in the original language, I gave the names in English.

* * *

Edward Bairstow 1926 (incomplete)

Orchestra: The Royal Albert Hall Orchestra

Continuo: organ

Choir: Royal Choral Society

Location and date of recording: Royal Albert Hall, London; April 24, 1926

Original catalogue number: HMV C1113-14, 1123, 1127.

Copy consulted: Amphion PHI CD 138. Issued 1996.

Annotation (in CD re-issue): Martin J. Monkman

Special comments: Recorded at a complete live performance of the Mass. Recording includes the following movements: Gloria, Et in terra, Qui tollis, Patrem omnipotentem, Crucifixus, Sanctus, Osanna. The re-issue disc also includes works by Byrd, Gibbons, Bach, Silas and Bairstow played on the organ or directed by Bairstow.

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Albert Coates 1929 Orchestra: London Symphony Orchestra

Continuo: organ, harpsichord, piano

Choir: Philharmonic Choir

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Elisabeth Schumann

Soprano 2 & alto: Margaret Balfour

Tenor: Walter Widdop

Bass: Friedrich Schorr

Location and date of recording: Kingsway Hall, London; March-May 1929

First catalogue number: HMV C 1710-1726. 34 sides. Issued 1929.

Copies consulted: Pearl GEMM CDS 9900. 2 CDs. Issued 1991. Stradivardius STR 78004. 2 CDs. Issued 1994.

Annotation: In Pearl re-issue: Alan Jefferson In Stradivardius re-issue: Alberto Cantoni

Special comments: First complete recording. The Pearl re-issue is part of a set entitled “Elisabeth Schumann: The Complete Bach Recordings”.

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Robert Shaw 1947 Orchestra: RCA Victor Orchestra

Continuo: organ

Choir: RCA Victor Chorale

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Anne McKnight

Soprano 2: June Gardner

Alto: Lydia Summers

Tenor: Lucius Metz

Bass: Paul Matthen

Location and date of recording: Not specified.

First catalogue number: RCA Victor LM 6100. 3 LPs. Issued c. 1947.

Copy consulted: CD re-mastering prepared by the British Library Sound Archive (BL shelf number: 1CDR0003653).

Annotation: Jules Herford & Robert Shaw

Special comments: Last recording to be issued on 78 RPM, and first to be issued on LP.

Günther Ramin 1950 (incomplete)

Orchestra: Stadt- und Gewandhausorchester Leipzig

Continuo: harpsichord, organ

Choirs: Thomanerchor Leipzig (dir. Günther Ramin) Dresdner Kreuzchor (dir. Rudolf Mauersberger)

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Gertrud Birmele

Soprano 2 & Alto: Lotte Wolf-Matthäus

Location and date of recording: Thomas-Kirche, Leipzig; July 28, 1950

Original catalogue number: Cantate Dokumentation 640 223. Issued after 1950.

Annotation: Walter Blankenburg

Special comments: Recorded at a complete live performance of the Mass. Recording includes the following movements: First Kyrie, Christe, Second Kyrie, Cum sancto spiritu, Et expecto, Sanctus, Agnus dei, Dona nobis pacem.

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Hermann Scherchen 1950 Orchestra: Wiener Symphoniker

Continuo: organ

Choir: Wiener Akademie Kammerchor

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Emmy Loose

Soprano 2: Hilde Ceska

Alto: Getrud Bugsthaler-Schuster

Tenor: Anton Dermota

Bass: Dr. Alfred Pöll

Location and date of recording: Vienna, Mozartsaal; October 1950

First catalogue number: Westminster WL 50-37/38/39. 3 LPs. Issued 1951.

Additional copy consulted: Universal Victor, Japan MVCW-14015-6. 2 CDs. Issued 1998.

Annotation: In original LP: Edward Tatnall Canby In CD re-issue: Myriam Herpi Scherchen

* Herbert von Karajan 1950

Orchestra: Wiener Symphoniker

Choir: Wiener Singverein

Soloists:

Soprano: Elisabeth Schwarzkopf

Alto: Kathleen Ferrier

Tenor: Walther Ludwig

Baritone: Alfred Pöll

Bass: Paul Schöffler

Location and date of recording: Musikvereinsaal, Vienna; June 15, 1950

Catalogue number: Foyer 2-CF 2022. 2 CDs.

Special comments: Information from Towe 1991c: 273.

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George Enescu 1951 Orchestra: Boyd Neel Orchestra

Continuo: organ, harpsichord

Choir: BBC Chorus (dir. Leslie Woodgate)

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Suzanne Danco

Soprano 2 & Alto: Kathleen Ferrier

Tenor: Peter Pears

Bass: Bruce Boyce

Location and date of recording: BBC Studio (London?); 17 July 1951

First catalogue number: BBC Legends BBCL 4008-7. 2 CDs. Issued 1998.

Annotation: Yehudi Menuhin

Special comments: This recording was broadcast on BBC Radio, but was not commercially issued until this CD re-mastering was issued.

- 303 -

Herbert von Karajan 1952 Orchestra: Orchester der Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde, Wien (choruses)

Philharmonia Orchestra (arias and duets)

Continuo: organ

Choir: Chor der Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde, Wien

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Elisabeth Schwarzkopf

Soprano 2 and Alto: Marga Höffgen

Tenor: Nicolai Gedda

Bass: Heinz Rehfuss

Location and date of recording: Musikvereinsaal, Vienna (choruses) & London (arias and duets); October 26-November 5, 1952

First catalogue number: EMI-Angel 3500 C (35015-6-7). 3 LPs. Issued 1954.

Additional copies consulted: EMI Réferences CHS 7 63505-2. 2 CDs. Issued 1990. EMI Classics 5 67207 2 5. 2CDs. Issued 1999. Also includes Christe, Laudamus, Qui sedes, Et in unum and Agnus dei from Karajan 1950.

Annotation: In original LP: Walter Emery

In 1990 CD re-issue: Lionel Salter (English), André Tubuef (French & German) In 1999 CD re-issue: Richard Osborne, Anthony Griffith

* Alfred Federer 1953

Orchestra: Rhineland Symphony Orchestra

Choir: Rhineland Symphony Chorus

Soloists:

Soprano: Heidrich

Alto: Brunner

Tenor: Bochner

Bass: Kuntz

First catalogue number: Regent 6000. 3 LPs. Issued 1953.

Special comments: Information from Index to Record Reviews (1978: 82); Schwann Catalogue (June 1953 to September 1962).

- 304 -

* Hans Grischkat 1953 Orchestra: Pro Musica Orchestra, Stuttgart

Choir: The Swabian Choral Singers

Soloists:

Soprano: Margot Guilleaum

Soprano 2 & Alto: Hetty Plumacher

Tenor: Werner Hohmann

Bass: Horst Guenther

First catalogue number: Vox PL8063. 3 LPs. Issued 1953.

Special comments: Information from Gramophone (review by Alec Robertson; August 1953: 71-72); Index to Record Reviews (1978: 82-83).

Fritz Lehmann 1953 Orchestra: Berlin Symphony Orchestra

Continuo: organ, harpsichord (possibly alternating)

Choir: Berlin Chamber Choirs

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Gunthild Weber

Soprano 2 & Alto: Margherita de Ladi

Tenor: Helmut Krebs

Bass: Karl Wolfram


First catalogue number: Vanguard Bach Guild BG 527/28. 2 LPs. Issued 1953 or 1954.

Annotation: Charles Sanford Terry (courtesy of Oxford University Press)

Special comments: This recording was issued simultaneously by different companies under three catalogue numbers. These editions are also inconsistent in naming the orchestra and choir. The details cited above are those listed in the copy I consulted at the BLSA. For more details, see Towe 1991c: 54, 274. According to Index to Record Reviews (1978: 83), the earliest review appeared in January 1954, hence my assumption that the recording might have appeared in 1953.

- 305 -

* Anonymous c. 1955 Orchestra and Choir: The Cathedral Choir and Symphony Orchestra

Soloists: Unnamed.

Original catalogue number: Gramophone 20164/66

Special comments: Information from Towe 1991c: 54-55, 274.

Kurt Thomas 1955 Orchestra: Collegium Musicum Orchestra [Frankfurt]


Choir: Choir of the Dreikönigskirche, Frankfurt

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Lisa Schwarzweller

Soprano 2 & Alto: Lore Fischer

Tenor: Helmut Kretzschmar

Bass: Bruno Müller


First catalogue number: L’Oiseau Lyre OL 50094/96. 3 LPs. Issued 1955.

Annotation: Not named.

Special comments: According to Index to Record Reviews (1978: 83), the earliest review was published in December 1955. Hence it is possible that the sessions took place earlier in the same year.

- 306 -

* Günther Ramin 1956 Orchestra: Bavarian State Orchestra (or Orchestra of Bavaria)

Choir: Teachers Choral Society (or Chorus of the Lehrergesangverein of Munich)

Soloists:

Soprano: Uta Graf

Alto: Hertha Töpper

Tenor: Gert Lutze

Bass: Max Proebstl

Location and date of recording: Munich, c. 1956 (live recording)

First catalogue numbers: Concert Hall CHS1234/ Musical Masterpiece Society MMS 2021. 2 LPs. Issued 1956.

Special comments: Information from Schwann Catalogue (September 1956 to June 1957); Index to Records Reviews (1978: 83); Towe 1991c: 51-52, 273; http://www.bach-cantatas.com/Vocal/BWV232-Rec2.htm.

* Fritz Werner 1957

Orchestra: Pforzheim Chamber Orchestra

Choir: Heinrich Schütz Chor, Heilbronn

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Ingeborg Reichelt

Soprano 2: Elisabeth Fellner

Alto: Renate Günther

Tenor: Helmut Krebs

Bass: Franz Kelch

Location and date of recording: Lutheran church, Weisenberg-Wuettemberg; January 1957

First catalogue number: Musical Heritage Society MH(S) 614-16. 3 LPs. Issued 1964.

Special comments: Information from Index to Record Reviews (1978: 83), American Record Guide (August 1985: 1147), http://www.bach-cantatas.com/Vocal/BWV232-Rec2.htm

http://www.bach-cantatas.com/Vocal/BWV232-Rec2.htm

http://www.bach

- 307 -

Eugen Jochum 1957 Orchestra: Symphonie-Orchester des Bayerischen Rundfunks


Choir: Chor des Bayerischen Rundfunks (dir. Kurt Prestel)

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Lois Marshall

Soprano 2 & Alto: Hertha Töpper

Tenor: Peter Pears

Bass 1 (Quoniam): Kim Borg

Bass 2 (Et in spiritum): Hans Braun

Location and date of recording: Munich; December 1957

First catalogue numbers: Epic (S)C-6027/Fontana CFL1028-9. 2 LPs. Issued 1958.

Copy consulted: Philips Duo 438 379-2. 2 CDs. Issued 1993.

Annotation:

In German LP release: Joachim von Hecker (Ehmann 1961: 14n)

In CD re-issue: Robin Golding (English), Uwe Kraemer (German), Pierre Saby (French), Giovanni Bietti (Italian)

Special comments: The CD notes describe this as a live recording, but I doubt if this was the case. On the CD, this recording of the B minor Mass is coupled with a 1965 recording of the Mass in F major, BWV 233, conducted by Kurt Redel.

- 308 -

Rudolf Mauersberger 1958 Orchestra: Staatskapelle Dresden

Continuo: organ, harpsichord (alternating)

Choir: Dresdner Kreuzchor

Soloists:

Soprano: Maria Stader

Soprano 2 and Alto: Sieglinde Wagner

Tenor: Ernst Haefliger

Bass: Theo Adam

Location and date of recording: Dresden Kreuzkirche; September-October 1958

First catalogue number: Eterna 8 20 074/76. 3 LPs. Issued c. 1960.

Copy consulted: Berlin Classics 0091712BC. 2 CDs. Issued 1996.

Annotation (in CD re-issue): Thomas Gerlich

Special comments: Original catalogue number from Towe 1991c: 274. Index to Record Reviews does not mention this recording; Schwann only lists the CD re-issue. No review in Fono Forum. It is not clear whether the catalogue number listed by Towe refers to the original 1960 release or to a later re-issue.

* Fritz Münch 1958 Orchestra: Orchestre Municipale de Strasbourg

Choir: Choeur de l'Église Saint-Guillaume

Soloists:

Soprano: Renée Defraiteur

Alto: Lore Fischer

Tenor: Helmut Kretschmar

Bass: André Vessières

Location and date of recording: The International Music Festival, Strasbourg, France, 1958 (live)

First catalogue number: Decca 173.863/65. 3 LPs. Issued 1958.

Special comments: Information from Towe 1991c: 44, 274.

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Hans Grischkat 1959 Orchestra: Orchester des 35. Deutschen Bachfestes

Continuo: organ

Choir: Der Schwäbische Singkreis

Soloists:

Soprano (including Laudamus): Friederike Sailer

Alto: Margarete Bence

Tenor: Fritz Wunderlich

Bass: Erich Wenk

Location and date of recording: Probably Stuttgart, between July 1, 1958 and summer 1959 (source: http://www.andreas-praefcke.de/wunderlich/discography/massbm.htm)

First catalogue number: Vox VBX7 (mono), STPL511283 (stereo). 3 LPs. Issued 1959.

Additional copy consulted: Vox Unique VBX 7. 2 CDs. Issued 2003.

Annotation: In original LP: Robert Cushman In CD re-issue: No annotation

Special comments: Before obtaining the CD re-issue, I consulted a copy of the mono edition available at the BLSA. Denis Stevens (Gramophone, September 1959: 130-131) describes this as “the first stereo Mass in B minor”. Jochum 1957 is also a stereo recording, but apparently its stereo release post-dates Grischkat’s.

http://www.andreas-praefcke.de/wunderlich/discography/massbm.htm

- 310 -

Hermann Scherchen 1959 Orchestra: Orchester der Wiener Staatsoper

Continuo: organ

Choir: Wiener Akademie Kammerchor

Soloists:

Soprano: Pierrette Alarie

Soprano 2 and alto: Nan Merriman

Tenor: Léopold Simoneau

Bass: Gustav Neidlinger

Location and date of recording: Vienna Konzerthaus, Mozartsaal; April & June 1959

First catalogue number: Westminster WST-304. 3 LPs. Issued 1960.

Additional copy consulted: Deutsche Grammophon 471 253-2. 2 CDs. Issued 2002.

Annotation (in CD re-issue): Eva Reisinger

Special comments: The BLSA copy of the original LPs lacked liner notes.

* Ifor Jones 1960 Orchestra: Bach Festival Orchestra, Bethlehem

Choir: Bach Choir of Bethlehem

Soloists:

Soprano: Lois Marshall

Alto: Eunice Alberts

Tenor: John McCollum

Bass: Kenneth Smith

Location and date of recording: Bethlehem, Pennsylvania; c. 1960

First catalogue number: Classical Record Library (S)RL 3623. 3 LPs. Issued 1962.

Special comments: Information from Broder 1963b.

- 311 -

Robert Shaw 1960 Orchestra: Robert Shaw Orchestra

Size: 29 players (division not specified)

Continuo: organ

Choir: Robert Shaw Chorale

Size: 33 singers (division not specified)

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Saramae Endlich

Soprano 2: Adele Addison

Alto: Florence Kopleff

Tenor: Mallory Walker

Bass: Ara Berberian

Location and date of recording: Manhattan Center, New York; June 6, 7, 9, 12-17, 1960

First catalogue number: RCM Victor LM 6157 (mono) LSC 6157 (stereo). 3 LPs. Issued 1961.

Copy consulted: RCA Victor Living Stereo 09026 63529 2. 2 CDs. Issued 1999.

Annotation: Philip L. Miller, Robert Shaw (reprinted in CD re-issue)

Special comments: Information on ensemble size from Nathan Broder’s review (1963a: 38), confirmed by the apparent size of the ensemble in the photograph attached to the CD re-issue. Contrary to statements in several reviews, the soloists did not serve as concertists in the choral movements. The booklet provides a separate list of concertists, drawn from the choir.

- 312 -

* Walter Goehr c. 1960 Orchestra: Orchestra of the Philharmonic Society of Amsterdam

Choir: Choir of the Philharmonic Society of Amsterdam

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Pierrette Alarie

Soprano 2: Catherine Delfosse

Alto: Grace Hoffman

Tenor: Léopold Simoneau

Bass: Heinz Rehfuss.

Location and date of recording: “Recorded prior to 1960” (Index to Record Reviews, 1978: 83)

First catalogue number: Vanguard SRV 216-17. 2 LPs. Issued c. 1967.

Special comments: Information from Index to Record Reviews (1978: 83); http://www.bach-cantatas.com/Vocal/BWV232-Rec2.htm

Karl Richter 1961 Orchestra: Münchener Bach-Orchester

Continuo: organ

Choir: Münchener Bach-Chor

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Maria Stader



Baritone (Et in spiritum): Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau

Bass (Quoniam): Kieth Engen

Location and date of recording: Munich, Musikhochschule, February & April 1961

First catalogue number: Archiv Produktion ARC3177-79. 3 LPs. Issued 1961.

Copy consulted: Archiv Produktion 427 155-2. 2 CDs. Issued 1989.

Annotation: Georg von Dadelsen (reprinted in CD re-issue)


- 313 -

* Herbert von Karajan 1961 Orchestra: Wiener Philharmoniker

Choir: Wiener Singverein

Soloists:

Soprano: Leontyne Price

Soprano 2 & Alto: Christa Ludwig


Baritone (Et in spiritum): Walter Berry

Bass (Quoniam): Gérard Souzay

Location and date of recording: Salzburg Festival; August 1961 (live)

First catalogue number: Movimento Musica 03.012. 3 LPs. Issued mid-1980s.


Otto Klemperer 1961 (incomplete)

Orchestra: Philharmonia Orchestra

Continuo: organ

Choir: Philharmonia Chorus (dir. John McCarthy)

Date and location of recording: Kingsway Hall, London; December 4-9, 1961.

First catalogue number: Testament SBT 1138. 1 CD. Issued 1999.

Annotation: Alan Sanders

Special comments: Sessions intended for a complete recording of the Mass, subsequently abandoned. Includes the following movements: First Kyrie, Second Kyrie, Gloria, Et in terra, Gratias, Qui tollis, Credo, Patrem, Incarnatus, Crucifixus, Confiteor, Sanctus, Osanna, Dona nobis pacem. Also includes a rehearsal sequence.

- 314 -

Eugene Ormandy 1962 Orchestra: The Philadelphia Orchestra


Choir: The Temple University Chorus (dir. Robert E. Page)

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Eleanor Steber

Soprano 2 and Alto: Rosalind Elias

Tenor: Richard Verreau

Bass: Richard Cross

Location and date of recording: Philadelphia?, April 1962 (http://www.bach-cantatas.com/Vocal/BWV232-Rec3.htm)

First catalogue number: Columbia M3L 280 (mono), M3S 680 (stereo). 3 LPs. Issued 1963.

Copy consulted: CBS 721114-72116. 3 LPs.

Annotation: Extract from Tovey 1937 (in copy consulted)

* Robert Shaw 1962

Orchestra: Robert Shaw Orchestra

Choir: Robert Shaw Chorale

Soloists:

Soprano: Unknown

Alto: Florence Kopleff

Tenor: Seth McCoy

Bass: Unknown

Location and date of recording: Great Hall, Moscow Conservatory; 27 November 1962

First catalogue number: Melodya S10 26061. 3 LPs.


http://www.bach

- 315 -

Anthon van der Horst 1964 Orchestra: Orchester der Niederländischen Bach-Vereinigung

Continuo: organ

Choir: Chor der Niederländischen Bach-Vereinigung

Soloists:

Soprano: Annete de la Bije

Alto (and soprano 2?): Eilhelmine Matthés

Tenor: Tom Brand

Bass: David Hollestelle


First catalogue number: Telefunken Das Alte Werk AWT 9416-8. 3 LPs. Issued 1964.

Annotation: Unknown (the BLSA copy I consulted lacked liner notes).

Lorin Maazel 1965

Orchestra: Rundfunk-Symphonie-Orchester, Berlin

Continuo: organ, harpsichord (alternating)

Choir: Rias-Kammerchor (dir. Günther Arndt)

Soloists:

Soprano: Teresa Stich-Randall

Soprano 2 & Alto: Anna Reynolds


Bass: John Shirley-Quirk

Location and date of recording: Berlin, September 1965

First catalogue number: Philips SPM3-581 (mono), SPS-3-981 (stereo). 3 LPs. Issued 1966.

Copy consulted: Philips 426 657. 2 CDs. Issued 1990.

Annotation (in CD re-issue): Andreas Glöckner (English, German, French), Christoph Wolff (Italian). Wolff’s notes are a translation of his notes to Brüggen 1989. Glöckner’s notes also appear in Schreier 1991.

- 316 -

Otto Klemperer 1967 Orchestra: New Philharmonia Orchestra

Size: c. 35 players (division unspecified)

Continuo: organ

Choir: BBC Chorus (dir. Peter Gellhorn)

Size: c. 50 singers (division unspecified)

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Agnes Giebel

Soprano 2 and Alto: Janet Baker


Baritone (Et in spiritum): Hermann Prey

Bass (Quoniam): Franz Crass

Location and date of recording: Kingsway Hall, London; September & October 1967

First catalogue number: EMI-Angel SC-3720. 3 LPs. Issued 1968.

Copy consulted: EMI CMS 7 63364 2. 2 CDs. Issued 1990.

Annotation: In LPs: Walter Emery

In CD re-issue: Robin Golding (English & French), Ulrich Schreiber (German)

Special comments: Emery’s notes are a reproduction of his notes for Karajan 1952. There also exists an unauthorised recording of one of the concerts that immediately preceded this recording, with the same cast (Hunt Productions HUNTCD 727; listed in Schwann-Opus, October 1990).

- 317 -

Nikolaus Harnoncourt 1968 Orchestra: Concentus Musicus Wien

Continuo: organ

Size: “Large orchestra” (4-4-2-2-1): First Kyrie; Second Kyrie; Gloria; Gratias; Cum sancto spiritu; Credo; Patrem; Et resurrexit; Et expecto; Sanctus; Osanna; Dona nobis Pacem; “Medium orchestra” (3-3-2-2-1): Et in unum; Crucifixus; “Small orchestra” (2-2-1-1-1): Christe; Laudamus; Domine deus; Qui tollis; Qui sedes; Et incarnatus; Agnus dei

Choir: Wiener Sängerknaben & Chorus Viennensis (cond. Hans Gillesberger)

Size: “Large choir” (10-10-8-6-8): First Kyrie; Second Kyrie; Gratias; Sanctus (up till Pleni); Dona nobis Pacem; “Medium choir” (6-5-5-4-4): Gloria (alternating with small); Qui tollis; Cum sancto spiritu (alternating with small); Credo; Patrem; Et resurrexit (alternating with small); Confiteor; Et expecto (alternating with small); Pleni sunt coeli (alternating with small); Osanna (alternating with small); “Small Choir” (4-3-3-3-3): Et incarnatus; Crucifixus

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Rotraud Hansmann

Soprano 2: Emiko Liyama

Alto: Helen Watts

Tenor: Kurt Equiluz

Bass: Max van Egmond

Location and date of recording: Casino Zögernitz, Vienna; April & May 1968

First catalogue number: Telefunken Das Alte Werk 3-Tel. SKH-20. 3 LPs. Issued 1968.

Additional copy consulted: Teldec Das Alte Werk 4500-95517-2. 2 CDs. Issued 1994.

Annotation: Nikolaus Harnoncourt (abridged version reprinted in CD re-issue)

Special comments: “First Recording with Original Instruments According to the Autograph”.

- 318 -

* Karl Richter 1968 Orchestra: Munich Bach Orchestra

Choir: Munich Bach Choir

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Ursula Buckel



Bass: Peter van der Bilt

Location and date of recording: Great Hall, Moscow Conservatory; 17 April 1968

Catalogue number: Melodyia LP issued 1984. Ars Nova Ars 005/6. 2 CDs. Year of release unknown.

Special comments: Information from http://www.jsbach.org/masslive.html; http://www.bach-cantatas.com/Vocal/BWV232-Rec3.htm; Wörner 2001: 158

http://www.jsbach.org/masslive.html


- 319 -

Karl Richter 1969a Orchestra: Münchener Bach-Orchester

Continuo: organ


Soloists:

Soprano 1: Ursula Buckel

Soprano 2 & Alto: Marga Höffgen


Bass: Ernst-Gerold Schramm

Location and date of recording: Main Auditorium of the Bunka-Kaikan, Tokyo; 9 May 1969.

First catalogue number: Archiv Produktion 453 242-2. 2 CDs. Issued 1996.

Copy consulted: Discs 9 and 10 of the boxed set “Bach: Sacred Masterpieces” (see p. 372 below); Archiv Produktion 463 701-2 (10 CDs). Issued 2000.

Annotation: Georg von Dadelsen (reprint of his notes to Richter 1961). 2000 boxed set also includes a note on Karl Richter by Karl Schumann.

Special comments: Live recording by NHK (Japanese Television). In “Bach: Sacred Masterpieces”, the recording is marked “P 1985”. However, Deutsche Grammophon’s website lists October 1996 as the date of the first CD release. Perhaps this refers to the European release, whereas 1985 refers to an earlier Japanese release.

- 320 -

Karl Richter 1969b Film director: Arne Arnbom

Orchestra: Münchener Bach-Orchester

Continuo: organ


Soloists:

Soprano: Gundula Janowitz


Tenor: Horst Laubenthal

Bass: Hermann Prey

Location and date of recording: Klosterkirche Dießen, Ammersee; September 1969

First catalogue number: Unitel (no catalogue number). Release date unknown.

Copy consulted: Video recording from a 1990s broadcast on ZDF.

Special comments: Information (in addition to credits included on film) from http://www.unitel.de/ucatalog/concert/61_3.htm; Wörner 2001: 129.

http://www.unitel.de/ucatalog/concert/61_3.htm

- 321 -

Karl Münchinger 1970 Orchestra: Stuttgarter Kammerorchester

Continuo: organ

Choir: Wiener Singakademiechor (dir. Xaver Meyer); see, however, special comments below.

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Elly Ameling

Soprano 2: Yvonne Minton

Alto: Helen Watts

Tenor: Werner Krenn

Bass: Tom Krause

Location and date of recording: Sofiensaal, Vienna; May 1970

First catalogue number: London 1287. 2 LPs. Issued 1971.

Copy consulted: Double Decca 440 609-2. 2 CDs. Issued 1994.

Annotation: Unknown (LP); Clifford Bartlett (CD; a reprint of his notes to Solti 1990)

Special comments: According to Anton Schönauer from Wiener Singakademie (quoted on http://www.bach-cantatas.com/Vocal/BWV232-Rec3.htm), the choir in this recording was not the Wiener Singakademie, but a group assembled especially for this recording. The group’s director, however, was Xaver Meyer, the Akademie’s Assistant-Director at the time. This mistake, if such it is, was apparently present on the original LPs (see, for example, Index to Record Reviews, 1978: 84), as well as the CD re-issue I consulted.


- 322 -

* Michel Corboz 1972 Orchestra: Ensemble Instrumental de Lausanne

Choir: Ensemble Vocal de Lausanne

Soloists:

Sopranos: Yvonne Perrin, Wally Staempfli

Mezzo: Magali Schwarz

Alto: Claudine Perret

Tenor: Olivier Dufour

Baritone: Philippe Huttenlocher

Bass: Niklaus Tüller

First catalogue number: Erato STU70715-7 (Gramophone, December 1972: 1181), Musical Heritage Society MHS-1708-10 (Index to Record Reviews, 1978: 84). 3 LPs. Issued 1972.

Special comments: Division of solos between female soloists not specified. An Erato 1990 re-issue, held at the BLSA and purporting to present this recording (with the erroneous recording date February 1982), is actually a re-issue of Corboz 1979.

Carlo Maria Giulini 1972

Orchestra: New Philharmonia Orchestra

Continuo: organ

Choir: New Philharmonia Chorus (director not specified)

Soloists:

Soprano: Jenny Hill

Soprano 2 & Alto: Janet Baker

Tenor: Peter Pears

Bass: John Shirley-Quirk

Location and date of recording: St. Paul’s Cathedral, London; 10 July 1972

First catalogue number: BBC Legends BBCL 4062-2. 2 CDs. Issued 2001.

Annotation: Richard Osborne

Special comments: This recording was broadcast on BBC Radio, but was not commercially available until this CD re-mastering was issued.

- 323 -

Herbert von Karajan 1974 Orchestra: Berliner Philharmoniker

Continuo: organ

Choir: Wiener Singverein (dir. Helmut Forschauer)

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Gundula Janowitz

Soprano 2 & Alto: Christa Ludwig

Tenor: Peter Schreier

Baritone: Robert Kerns

Bass: Karl Ridderbusch

Location and date of recording: Philharmonie, Berlin; September & November 1973, January 1974

First catalogue number: Deutsche Grammophon 2709049. 3 LPs. Issued 1974.

Copy consulted: Deutsche Grammophon 459 460-2. 2 CDs. Issued 1999.

Annotation: Hans-Elmar Bach (also reprinted in CD re-issue)

Johannes Somary 1974 Orchestra: English Chamber Orchestra

Continuo: organ

Choir: Amor Artis Chorale

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Felicity Palmer

Soprano 2 & Alto: Helen Watts

Tenor: Robert Tear

Bass: Michael Rippon

Location and date of recording: Conway Hall, London; 1973 or 1974

First catalogue number: Vanguard VSD-71190-92. 3 LPs. Issued 1974.

Additional copy consulted: Vanguard Classic – The Bach Guild ATM-CD-1242. 2 CDs. Issued 2003.

Annotation: In original LP: J. Merill Knapp In CD re-issue: Charles Sanford Terry (excerpts from Terry 1924)

- 324 -

* Hermann Aschenbach 1976 Orchestra: Heidelberger Kammerorchester

Choir: Tübinger Kantatenchor

Soloists:

Soprano: Charlotte Lehmann

Alto: Sabine Kircher

Tenor: Raimund Gilvan

Bass: Edmund Illerhaus

First catalogue number: Oryx 3-CMS-Oryx 1108/10. 3 LPs. Issued 1976.

Special comments: Information from Schwann Catalogue June 1976-June 1980; http://www.bach-cantatas.com/Vocal/BWV232-Rec4.htm

Helmuth Rilling 1977 Orchestra: Bach-Collegium Stuttgart

Continuo: organ

Choir: Gächinger Kantorei Stuttgart

Soloists:

Soprano: Arleen Auger

Soprano 2 & Alto: Julia Hamari

Tenor: Adalbert Kraus

Bass: Siegmund Nimsgern

Location and date of recording: Stuttgart; April 1977

First catalogue number: CBS 79 307. 3 LPs. Issued 1977.

Copies consulted: CBS Maestro M2YK 45615. 2 CDs. Issued c. 1985 CBS Odyssey MB2K 45615. 2 CDs. Issued 1989.

Annotation (in 1985 re-issue): Georg von Dadelsen (German), Denis Arnold (English)

Special comments: In the 1985 re-issue, Dadelsen’s notes are marked ©1977; I therefore assume they were part of the original LP. However, it is possible that the LPs were originally issued in German only: my source for their catalogue number is Bollert 1977. Thus, Arnold’s notes might have been commissioned especially for the 1985 CD re-issue.


- 325 -

Neville Marriner 1977 Orchestra: Academy of St. Martin-in-the-Fields.

Continuo: organ

Choir: Chorus of St. Martin-in-the-Fields (dir. Laszlo Heltay)

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Margaret Marshall

Soprano 2 & Alto: Janet Baker

Tenor: Robert Tear

Bass: Samuel Ramey

Location and date of recording: London; November 1977

First catalogue number: Philips 6769002. 3 LPs. Issued 1978.

Copy consulted: Philips 416 415-2. 2 CDs. Release date unknown; no later than 1986 (year of Gramophone review).

Annotation (in CD re-issue): Hermann Rauhe. Possibly a reprint of LP notes.

* Karl-Friedrich Beringer 1978

Orchestra: Amadeus Orchester Neuendettelsau

Choir: Amadeus Chor Neuendettelsau

Soloists:

Soprano: Gerda Hagner

Alto: Ingeborg Ruß

Tenor: Aldo Baldin

Bass: Manfred Volz

First catalogue number: Rondeau AC 2905 7701/1-3. 3 LPs. Issued 1978.

Special comments: Information from Blum 1978.

- 326 -

~ Andrew Parrott 1979 Orchestra: Taverner Orchestra

Continuo: organ

Choir: Taverner choir

Size: 36 singers (division unspecified)

Concertists:

Soprano 1: Emma Kirkby

Soprano 2: Judith Nelson

Alto: Catherine Denley

Tenor: Neil Jenkins

Bass: David Thomas

Location and date of recording: St. John’s Smith Square, London; 1979

BL shelf number: T3469BW-T3ER70BW R1-R2.

Special comments: BBC Radio 3 broadcast of a concert from the 1979 Early Music Centre Festival.

Michel Corboz 1979 Orchestra: Ensemble Instrumental de Lausanne

Continuo: organ

Choir: Ensemble Vocal de Lausanne

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Rachel Yakar

Soprano 2: Jennifer Smith

Alto: Brigit Finnila

Tenor: Anthony Rolfe-Johnson

Baritone: Philippe Huttenlocher

Bass: José van Dam

Location and date of recording: Temple de Lutry, Switzerland; October 1979

First catalogue number: Erato STU71314. 3 LPs. Issued 1980.

Copy consulted: 0630-13732-2. 2 CDs. Issued 1996.

Annotation (in CD re-issue): Catherine Steinegger

Special comments: Coupled with Magnificat, on both LP and CD.

- 327 -

Eugen Jochum 1980 Orchestra: Symphonie-Orchester des Bayerischen Rundfunks


Choir: Chor des Bayerischen Rundfunks (dir. Josef Schmidhuber)

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Helen Donath

Soprano 2 & Alto: Brigitte Fassbaender

Tenor: Claes H. Ahnsjö

Baritone: Roland Hermann

Bass: Robert Holl

Location and date of recording: Herkulessaal, Munich, March & April 1980

First catalogue number: EMI-Angel DS-3904. 3 LPs. Issued 1980.

Copy consulted: EMI Double Forte 5 68640 2. 2 CDs. Issued 1995.

Annotation (in CD re-issue): David Ashman

Peter Schreier 1982 Orchestra: Neues Bachisches Collegium Musicum, Leipzig

Continuo: organ

Choir: Rundfunkchor Leipzig

Soloists:

Soprano: Lucia Popp (incl. Laudamus)

Alto: Carolyn Watkinson

Tenor: Eberhard Büchner

Bass: Theo Adam

Location and date of recording: Paul-Gerhardt-Kirche, Leipzig; November 1981, February 1982

First catalogue number: Ariola-Eurodisc 301 077-445. 3 LPs. Issued 1983.

Copies consulted: Eurodisc 610089. 2 CDs. Issued 1984. Berlin Classics 002123BC. 2 CDs. Issued 1997.

Annotation: Erich Valentin (Eurodisc CDs, German only), Peter Rümenapp (Berlin Classics CD)

- 328 -

Joshua Rifkin 1982 Orchestra: The Bach Ensemble

Continuo: organ

Size: Strings 2-2-1-1-1

Concertists:


Soprano 2: Julianne Baird

Altos: Jeffrey Dooley; Drew Minter (in Sanctus, Osanna & Dona nobis)

Tenors: Frank Hoffmeister; Edmund Brownless (in Osanna & Dona Nobis)

Basses: Jan Opalach; Andrew Walker Schultze (in Osanna & Dona Nobis)

Location and date of recording: Rutgers Presbyterian Church, New York; 31 December 1981 – 11 January 1982

First catalogue number: Nonesuch D79036. 2 LPs. Issued 1982.

Additional copies consulted: Nonesuch 9 79036-2. 2 CDs. Issued 1980s.

Annotation: Joshua Rifkin

Special comments: “First recording in the original version”

* Joachim Carlos Martini 1984 Orchestra: Florilegium Musicum Rotterdam, Trompetenensemble Friedemann Immer

Choir: Junge Kantorei

Soloists:

Soprano: Barbara Schlick

Alto: Hilke Helling

Tenor: John Elwes

Bass: Harry van der Kamp

Location and date of recording: Rotterdam (?), December 1983-January 1984 (http://www.bach-cantatas.com/Vocal/BWV232-Rec5.htm)

First catalogue number: MD + GL 3146/47. 2 CDs. Issued 1984.

Annotation: Joachim Carlos Martini (according to Messmer 1984)


- 329 -

Andrew Parrott 1984 Orchestra: The Taverner Players


Continuo: organ

Concertists:

Soprano 1: Emma Kirkby

Soprano 2: Emily van Evera

Altos (Members of the Tölzer Knabenchor): Panito Iconomou (including Qui sedes and Agnus dei); Christian Immler (including Et in unum); Michael Kilian (choruses only)

Tenor: Rogers Covey-Crump

Bass: David Thomas

Ripienists (& *concertists in Osanna):

The Taverner Consort (Tessa Bonner & Twig Hall, sopranos; *Mary Nichols, alto; *Nicolas Robertson, tenor; *Simon Grant, bass)

Location and date of recording: St. John Smith’s Square, London; 4-5 & 10-15 September, 1984

First catalogue number: EMI Reflexe 7 47293 8. 2 CDs. Issued 1985.

Additional Copy consulted: Virgin Veritas 5 61337 2. 2 CDs. issued 1996.

Annotation: Hugh Keyte, Andrew Parrott (EMI); Mark Audus (Virgin)

- 330 -

John Eliot Gardiner 1985 Orchestra: English Baroque Soloists

Size: Strings 4-4-3-2-1 (+ 1 additional player in each section for Sanctus, Osanna and Dona nobis pacem)


Choir: Monteverdi Choir

Size: 5-5-4-5-5 (+ 1 additional 1st soprano, 2nd soprano, tenor and bass, and 2 additional altos, for Sanctus, Osanna and Dona nobis pacem)

Concertists:

Soprano: Nancy Argenta (including Laudamus, Domine deus); Lynne Dawson (including Christe eleison); Carol Hall (including Christe eleison); Patrizia Kwella (including Et in unum); Jane Fairfield, Jean Knibbs (choruses only)

Alto: Mary Nichols (including Et in unum); Michael Chance (including Qui sedes, Agnus dei); Ashley Stafford, Patrick Collin (choruses only)

Tenor: Wynford Evans (including Benedictus); Howard Milner (Domine deus); Andrew Murgatroyd (choruses only)

Bass: Stephen Varcoe (including Quoniam); Richard Lloyd Morgan (including Et in spiritum)

Location and date of recording: All Saints’ Church, Tooting, London; February 1985

First catalogue number: Archiv Produktion 415 514-2. 2 CDs. Issued 1985.

Annotation: Christoph Wolff

- 331 -

Gustav Leonhardt 1985 Orchestra: La Petite Bande


Continuo: organ

Choir: Collegium musicum van de Nederlandse Bachvereiniging

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Isabelle Poulenard

Soprano 2: Guillemette Laurens

Alto: René Jacobs

Tenor: John Elwes

Bass 1 (Quoniam): Harry van der Kamp

Bass 2 (Et in spiritum): Max van Egmond

Location and date of recording: Haarlem; 13-19 February 1985

First catalogue number: EMI/Deutsche Harmonia Mundi CDC16951-8. 2 CDs. Issued 1985.

Copy consulted: Deutsche Harmonia Mundi Editio Classica GD77040. 2 CDs. Issued 1990.

Annotation: Walter Blankenburg

Special comments: I also listened to a BLSA taping of a BBC broadcast of a performance by the same conductor, orchestra and soloists, but recorded at the Kornelimünster in Aachen. The choir is listed as the Amsterdam Bach Choir, which might still refer to the same ensemble. There were no significant interpretive differences between the two recordings.

- 332 -

* Helmut Kahlhöfer 1985 Orchestra: Members of the Bamberger Symphoniker

Choir: Kantorei Barmen-Gemarke

Soloists:

Soprano: Mitsuko Shirai

Alto: Hildegard Laurich

Tenor: Karl Markus

Bass: Andreas Schmidt

Location of recording: February 1985

First catalogue number: Kantorei Barmen-Gemarke (no number). Issued 1985?

Special comments: Information from http://www.bach-cantatas.com/Vocal/BWV232-Rec5.htm, http://www.kantorei-barmen-gemarke.wtal.de/CD-Aufnahmen-neu/CD-Aufnahmen-neu.html#Bestellung

http://www.bach-cantatas.com/Vocal/BWV232

http://www.kantorei-barmen-gemarke.wtal.de/CD-Aufnahmen

- 333 -

Nikolaus Harnoncourt 1986 Orchestra: Concentus Musicus Wien

Size: strings 6-6-4-3-21

Continuo: organ

Choir: Arnold-Schönberg-Chor (dir. Erwin G. Ortner)

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Angela Maria Blasi

Soprano 2: Delores Ziegler

Alto: Jadwiga Rappe

Tenor: Kurt Equiluz

Bass: Robert Holl

Location and date of recording: Konzerthaus, Vienna; April 1986

First catalogue number: Teldec Das Alte Werk 6.35716. 2 CDs. Issued 1986.

Additional copy consulted: Teldec Das Alte Werk 2292-42676-2. 2 CDs. Issued 1995.

Annotation: Nikolaus Harnoncourt interviewed by Manfred Wagner (original issue) Wolf-Eberhard von Lewinski, Matthew Gurewitsch (1995 re-issue)

Special comment: Recording date and venue not provided in documentation; information taken from http://users.libero.it/enrico.gustav/Harnoncourt/Barocco.htm.

1 The booklet names 12 violinists; I assumed equal distribution between the two sections.

http://users.libero.it/enrico.gustav/Harnoncourt/Barocco.htm

- 334 -

* Alois Ickstadt 1987 Orchestra: Collegium Instrumentale Alois Kottmann

Choir: Figuralchor Frankfurt (dir. Rolf Beck)

Soloists:

Soprano: Ulrike Sonntag

Alto: Alison Browner

Tenor: Adalbert Kraus

Bass: Ernst-Gerold Schramm

Location and date of recording: May 1987

First catalogue number: Melisma 7023-2. 2 CDs. Issued c. 1999.

Special comments: Information from http://www.bach-cantatas.com/Vocal/BWV232-Rec5.htm and http://www.melisma.de.

Philippe Herreweghe 1988 Orchestra: Orchestra of the Collegium Vocale, Ghent


Continuo: organ

Choir: Chorus of the Collegium Vocale, Ghent

Size: 4-3-4-5-5

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Barbara Schlick

Soprano 2: Catherine Patriasz

Alto: Charles Brett

Tenor: Howard Crook

Bass: Peter Kooy

Location and date of recording: Minderbroederskerk, Ghent; April 1988

First catalogue number: Virgin Veritas VCD 7 90757-2. 2 CDs. Issued 1989.

Annotation: Mark Audus, Philippe Herreweghe

2 The booklet names 9 violinists; I assumed a larger first violin section.


http://www.melisma.de

- 335 -

Helmuth Rilling 1988a Orchestra: Stuttgarter Kammerorchester


Continuo: organ


Size: 8-8-13-11-113

Soloists:

Soprano: Ulrike Sonntag

Soprano 2 & Alto: Marjana Lipovšek

Tenor: Howard Crook


Location and date of recording: Kirche der Karlshöhe, Ludwigsburg; May 1988

First catalogue number: Intercord INT 885 855. 2 CDs. Issued 1988.

Annotation: Ulrich Prinz

* Helmuth Rilling 1988b Orchestra: Stuttgarter Kammerorchester


Soloists:

Soprano: Arleen Augér

Alto: Anne Sophie von Otter

Tenor: Aldo Baldin

Bass: Wolfgang Schöne

Date of recording: 1988

First catalogue number: Platz PLLC 5004/5005. 2 CDs.

Special comments: Information from http://www.bach-cantatas.com/Vocal/BWV232-Rec5.htm, http://www.bekkoame.ne.jp/~hippo/musik/title/bach_bwv232.html.

3 The booklet names 16 sopranos; I assumed equal distribution between the two sections.


http://www.bekkoame.ne.jp/~hippo/musik/title/bach_bwv232.html

- 336 -

Jörg Straube 1988 Orchestra: Camerata Hannover


Continuo: organ

Choir: Norddeutscher Figuralchor

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Olivia Blackburn

Soprano 2: Regina Jakobi

Alto: Ulla Groenewold

Tenor: Christoph Prégardien

Bass: Carl-Heinz Müller

Location and date of recording: Marktkirche SS. Georgii et Jacobi, Hannover; 1988

First catalogue number: Thorofon DCTH 2081/82. Issued 1988.

Annotation: Thomas Seedorf

Frans Brüggen 1989 Orchestra: Orchestra of the 18th Century


Continuo: organ

Choir: Netherlands Chamber Choir

Size: 5-5-6-6-6

Soloists:

Soprano (incl. Laudamus): Jennifer Smith

Alto: Michael Chance

Tenor: Nico van der Meel

Bass: Harry van der Kamp

Location and date of recording: Vredenburg, Utrecht; March 1989 (live)

First catalogue number: Philips 426 238-2. 2 CDs. Issued 1990.



- 337 -

~ Gustav Leonhardt 1989 Orchestra: La Petite Bande

Choir: Cantata (dir. Julian Clarkson)

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Greta de Rheyghere

Soprano 2: Guillemette Laurens


Tenor: John Elwes

Bass: Max van Egmond

Location and date of recording: St. John’s Smith Square, London; August 1989

BL shelf number: B5734/19

~ John Eliot Gardiner 1989

Orchestra: English Baroque Soloists


Choir: Monteverdi Choir

Concertists:

Soprano 1: Nancy Argenta

Soprano 2: Catherine Robbin



Bass: Stephen Varcoe

Location and date of recording: Royal Albert Hall, London; September 6, 1989

BL shelf number: B4683/03

- 338 -

Anders Eby 1990 Orchestra: Drottningholm Baroque Ensemble


Continuo: organ

Choir: Mikaeli Chamber Choir

Size: 7-7-9-8-11

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Christina Högman

Soprano 2 & Alto: Monica Groop

Tenor: Howard Crook

Bass: Petteri Salomaa

Location and date of recording: St. John’s Church, Stockholm; January 22-24, 1990

First catalogue number: Proprius PRCD 9070/1. 2 CDs. Issued 1992.

Annotation: Per-Erik Brolinson

Georg Solti 1990 Orchestra: Chicago Symphony Orchestra

Continuo: organ

Choir: Chicago Symphony Chorus (dir. Margaret Hillis)

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Felicity Lott

Soprano 2 & Alto: Anne Sofie von Otter

Tenor: Hans Peter Blochwitz

Baritone (Et in spiritum): William Shimell

Bass (Quoniam): Gwynne Howell

Location and date of recording: Orchestra Hall, Chicago; 25, 26 & 28 January 1990 (live)

First catalogue number: Decca 430 353-2. 2 CDs. Issued 1991.

Annotation: Clifford Bartlett

- 339 -

Robert Shaw 1990 Orchestra: Atlanta Symphony Orchestra

Continuo: organ

Choir: Atlanta Chamber Chorus

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Sylvia McNair

Soprano 2: Delores Ziegler

Alto: Marietta Simpson

Tenor: John Aler

Baritone: William Stone

Bass: Thomas Paul

Location and date of recording: Symphony Hall, Atlanta, Georgia; March 5-7, 1990

First catalogue number: Telarc CD-80233. 2 CDs. Issued 1990.

Annotation: Nick Jones

Erwin Ortner 1990 Orchestra: Salzburger Barockensemble

Continuo: organ

Choir: Arnold Schoenberg Chor5

Soloists:

Soprano: Maria Venuti

Soprano 2 & Alto: Cornelia Kallisch


Bass: Anton Scharinger

Location and date of recording: Musikverein, Vienna; April 1990 (live)

First catalogue number: Koch Schwann SCH 312512. 2 CDs. Issued 1994.

Copy consulted: Koch Schwann Musica Mundi 3-6757-2. 2 CDs. Issued 2000.

Annotation (in 2000 re-issue): Carl de Nys

5 The spelling here is different from the spelling employed by Teldec in Harnoncourt 1986; the choir is, of course, the same choir. The spelling employed here is also the one used on the choir’s website.

- 340 -

* Sergiu Celibidache 1990 Orchestra: Munich Philharmonic Orchestra

Choir: Bach Choir of the Johannes Gutenberg University Mainz (dir. Joshard Daus)

Soloists:

Soprano: Barbara Bonney

Mezzo-soprano: Ruxandra Donose Danila

Alto: Cornelia Wulkopf


Baritone: Yaron Windmiller


Location and date of recording: Munich; November 1990

First catalogue number: Exclusive EXL CD 33 (Schwann-Opus, Winter 1993-1994); EX92T33/34 (http://www.jsbach.org/sergiu.html). 2 CDs. Issued c. 1993.

Special comments: Information on date of recording from http://www.jsbach.org/sergiu.html and http://www.bach-cantatas.com/Vocal/BWV232-Rec5.htm.

Peter Schreier 1991 Orchestra: Staatskapelle Dresden

Continuo: organ

Choir: Rundfunkchor Leipzig (dir. Gert Frischmuth)

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Arleen Auger

Soprano 2: Ann Murray

Alto: Marjana Lipovšek



Location and date of recording: Lukaskirche Dresden; January 1991


Annotation: Andreas Glöckner

http://www.jsbach.org/sergiu.html

http://www.jsbach.org/sergiu.html

http://www.bach

- 341 -

Christian Brembeck 1992 Orchestra: Capella Istropolitana

Continuo: organ

Choir: Slovak Philharmonic Choir (dir. Jan Rozehnal)

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Friedrike Wagner

Soprano 2: Faridah Schäfer-Subrata

Alto: Martina Koppelstetter

Tenor: Markus Schäfer

Bass: Hartmut Elbert

Location and date of recording: Moyzes Hall, Bratislava; 9-19 February 1992

First catalogue number: Naxos 8.550585-6. 2 CDs. Issued 1992.

Annotation: Keith Anderson

Hanns-Martin Schneidt 1992 Orchestra: Münchener Bach-Orchester

Continuo: organ


Soloists:

Soprano: Annegeer Stumphius

Soprano 2 & Alto: Cornelia Kallisch

Tenor: Robert Wörle


Location and date of recording: Philharmonie im Gasteig, Munich; March 21, 1992 (live)

First catalogue number: Calig CAL 50929/30. 2 CDs. Issued 1994.

Annotation: Dietz-Rüdiger Moser

- 342 -

Richard Hickox 1992 Orchestra & Choir: Collegium Musicum 90

Orchestra size: Strings 4-4-2-2-1


Choir size (eight parts): 4-4-3-2-3-2-3-3

Soloists:

Soprano (incl. Laudamus): Nancy Argenta

Alto: Catherine Denley

Tenor: Mark Tucker

Bass: Stephen Varcoe

Location and date of recording: St. Jude’s Church, London; 11-13 & 15-16 June 1992

First catalogue number: Chandos Chaconne CHAN 0533. 2 CDs. Issued 1992.

Annotation: Nicholas Anderson

Hermann Max 1992 Orchestra: Das kleine Konzert

Continuo: organ

Choir: Rheinische Kantorei

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Veronika Winter

Soprano 2: Johanna Koslowsky

Alto: Kai Wessel

Tenor: Markus Brutscher

Bass 1 (Et in spiritum): Hans-Georg Wimmer

Bass 2 (Quoniam): Stephan Schreckenberger

Location and date of recording: Zeughaus, Neuss; 1-6 June 1992

First catalogue number: Capriccio 60 033 2. 2 CDs. Issued 1993.

Annotation: Peter Wollny

- 343 -

Jeffrey Thomas 1992 Orchestra & Choir: American Bach Soloists


Continuo: organ

Choir size: 5-5-4-5-5

Concertists:

Soprano 1: Julianne Baird (Christe, Et in unum); Nancy Zylstra (Domine deus)


Alto: Zoila Muňoz (Qui sedes); Steven Rickards (Et in unum); Jennifer Lane (Agnus dei)

Tenor: Patrick Romano (Domine deus); Jeffrey Thomas (Benedictus)

Bass: James Weaver (Quoniam); William Sharp (Et in spiritum)

Location and date of recording: St. Stephen’s Church, Belvedere, California; June 15-18, 1992

First catalogue number: Koch International Classics 3-7194-2. 2 CDs. Issued 1992.

Annotation: Kristi Brown-Montesano, Jeffrey Thomas

- 344 -

René Jacobs 1992 Orchestra: Akademie für alte Musik, Berlin


Continuo: organ

Choir: RIAS-Kammerchor (dir. Marcus Creed)

Soloists (and concertists in Qui tollis, Incarnatus and Resurrexit):

Soprano 1: Hillevi Martinpelto

Soprano 2 (and Agnus dei): Bernarda Fink

Alto: Axel Köhler


Baritone (Et in spiritum): Matthias Görne

Bass (Quoniam): Franz-Josef Selig

Location and date of recording: Jesus-Christus-Kirche, Berlin-Dahlem; September 1992

First catalogue number: Berlin Classics BC 1063-2. 2 CDs. Issued 1993.

Annotation: Dietmar Hiller


- 345 -

Eric Ericsson 1992 Orchestra: Drottningholm Baroque Ensemble


Continuo: organ

Choir: Eric Ericson Chamber Choir

Size: 6-6-9-8-97

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Barbara Bonney

Soprano 2 & Alto: Monica Groop

Tenor: Klas Hedlund

Bass: Gunnar Lundberg

Location and date of recording: Berwald Hall, Stockholm; 7-8 November 1992 (live)

First catalogue number: Vanguard Classics 99044/45. 2 CDs. Issued 1993.

Annotation: None


- 346 -

Ton Koopman 1994 Orchestra: Amsterdam Baroque Orchestra


Continuo: organ

Choir: Amsterdam Baroque Choir (dir. Simon Schouten)

Size: 6-5-5-5-69

Soloists:

Soprano (incl. Laudamus): Barbara Schlick

Alto: Kai Wessel

Tenor: Guy de Mey

Bass: Klaus Mertens

Location and date of recording: Wallonne Church, Amsterdam; March & May 1994

First catalogue number: Erato 4509-98478-2. 2 CDs. Issued 1995.


8 The booklet names 8 violinists; I assumed equal distribution between the two sections. 9 The booklet names 11 sopranos; I assumed a larger first soprano section.

- 347 -

Harry Christophers 1994 Orchestra: Orchestra of the Sixteen


Continuo: organ, harpsichord, theorbo

Choir: The Sixteen

Size: 4-4-6-6-611

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Catherine Dubosc

Soprano 2: Catherine Denley

Alto: James Bowman

Tenor: John Mark Ainsley

Bass: Michael George

Location and date of recording: St. Augustines, Kilburn, London; April 1994

First catalogue number: Collins Classics 70322. 2 CDs. Issued 1994.

Annotation: Simon Heighes

10 The booklet names 9 violinists; I assumed a larger first violin section. 11 The booklet names 8 sopranos; I assumed equal distribution between the two sections.

- 348 -

Carlo Maria Giulini 1994 Orchestra: Symphonie-Orchester des Bayerischen Rundfunks

Continuo: organ12

Choir: Chor des Bayerischen Rundfunks (dir. Michael Gläser)

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Ruth Ziesak

Soprano 2: Roberta Alexandra

Alto: Jard Van Nes

Tenor: Keith Lewis

Bass: David Wilson-Johnson

Location and date of recording: Herkulessaal, Munich; June 2 & 3, 1994 (live)

First catalogue number: Sony Classical S2K 66 354. 2 CDs. Issued 1994.

Annotation: Helge Grünewald

Karl-Friedrich Beringer 1994 Orchestra: Deutsche Kammerakademie Neuss & Trompetenensemble Läubin

Continuo: organ

Choir: Windsbacher Knabenchor

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Christine Schäfer

Soprano 2 & Alto: Ingeborg Danz


Bass: Thomas Quasthoff

Location and date of recording: Münster zu Heilsbronn; July 18-23 1994

First catalogue number: Hänssler CD 98.959. 2 CDs. Issued 1994.

Copy consulted: Hänssler Classic Masterpieces Collection 94.036. 2 CDs. Issued 2001.

Annotation: Norbert Bolin (available in PDF format from Hänssler’s website: www.haenssler-classic.de)

12 The booklet names two organists – one on “organ”, one on “organ positive”.

http://www.haenssler-classic.de

- 349 -

* Zdeněk Košler Orchestra: Czech National Symphony Orchestra

Choir: Kühn Mixed Choir (dir. Pavel Kühn)

Soloists:

Soprano: Zdena Kloubová

Alto: Marta Beňačková

Tenor: Jörg Dürmüller

Bass: Peter Mikuláš

Location and date of recording: Rudolfinum, Prague; September 1994 (live)

First catalogue number: ICN 020. 2 CDs.

Special comments: Information from http://www.bach-cantatas.com/Vocal/BWV232-Rec6.htm, http://www.icn-cnso.cz/cd_en.html

* Gerald Kegelmann 1994 Orchestra: Accademia Filarmonica Köln & Trompetenensemble Friedemann Immer

Choir: Heidelberger Madrigalchor

Soloists:

Soprano: Veronika Winter

Alto: Kai Wessel

Tenor: Dantes Diwiak

Bass: Raimund Nolte

Location and date of recording: Evangelischen Kirche Walldorf, November 12, 1994;

Peterskirche Heidelberg, November 13, 1994 (live)

First catalogue number: Heidelberger Madrigalchor; no catalogue number. 2 CDs. Issued c. 1995.

Special comments: Information from http://www.bach-cantatas.com/Vocal/BWV232-Rec6.htm, http://www.heidelberger-madrigalchor.de.


http://www.icn-cnso.cz/cd_en.html


http://www.heidelberger-madrigalchor.de

- 350 -

~ Frans Brüggen 1995 Orchestra: The English Chamber Orchestra

Choir: Tallis Chamber Choir

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Lynne Dawson

Soprano 2: Lorna Anderson

Alto: Derek Lee Ragin



Location and date of recording: Barbican Hall, London; March 1995

BL shelf number: H5025/1

* Paul Kuentz 1995 Orchestra: Paul Kuentz Chamber Orchestra

Choir: Paul Kuentz Choir

Soloists:

Soprano: Hèléne Obadia

Alto: Madeleine Jalbert

Tenor: Adrian Brand

Bass: Paul Gay

Date of recording: November 1995

First catalogue number: Pierre Verany PV 730060. 2 CDs. Issued 1996.

Special comments: Information from http://www.bach-cantatas.com/Vocal/BWV232-Rec6.htm, http://www.cdmail.fr/napv.asp (the Pierre Verany website).


http://www.cdmail.fr/napv.asp

- 351 -

Kurt Redel c. 1995 Orchestra: Orchestra of the Brunswick-Hanover Bach Festival


Choir: Chorus of the Brunswick-Hanover Bach Festival

Soloists: Not named.


First catalogue number: Cirrus CRSCD 227. 2 CDs. Issued 1996.

Annotation: Robert Matthew-Walker

Special comments: Listed here as c. 1995 on the assumption that the recording was issued shortly after the sessions. However, this is not necessarily the case.

Valentin Radu 1995 Orchestra & Choir: Ama Deus Ensemble


Continuo: harpsichord

Choir size: 2-2-4-4-413

Soloists:

Soprano (incl. Laudamus): Julianne Baird

Alto: Lorie Gratis

Tenor: David Gordon

Bass: Kevin Deas

Location and date of recording: Chapel at Valley Forge Military Academy, Wayne, Pennsylvania; September 1-2, 1995.

First catalogue number: Vox Classics 2 7524. 2 CDs. Issued 1996.

Annotation: Donna & Valentin Radu


- 352 -

~ Nicholas McGegan 1996 Orchestra: BBC National Orchestra of Wales

Choir: BBC National Chorus of Wales

Soloists:

Soprano: Susannah Waters

Alto: Catherine Robbin

Tenor: Mark Tucker

Bass: David Thomas

Location and date of recording: St David’s Hall, Cardiff; April 1996


Philippe Herreweghe 1996 Orchestra: Orchestra of the Collegium Vocale

Size: 4-4-3-2-114

Continuo: organ

Choir: Chorus of the Collegium Vocale

Size: 4-4-5-5-5

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Johanette Zomer

Soprano 2: Véronique Gens

Alto: Andreas Scholl


Bass 1 (Et in spiritum): Peter Kooy

Bass 2 (Quoniam): Hanno Müller-Brachmann

Location and date of recording: Abbaye aux Dames, Saintes; July 1996

First catalogue number: Harmonia Mundi France HMC 901614.15. 2 CDs. Issued 1998.

Copy consulted: Harmonia Mundi Bach Edition HMC 2951614.15. 2 CDs. Issued 1999.

Annotation: Alberto Basso


- 353 -

* Michel Corboz 1996 Orchestra: Lausanne Instrumental Ensemble

Choir: Lausanne Vocal Ensemble

Soloists:

Soprano: Sandrine Piau

Alto: Bernarda Fink


Bass: Marcos Fink

Date of recording: September 1996

First catalogue number: Aria Music 970901. 2 CDs. Issued c. 1999.

Special comments: Information from American Record Guide, November/December 1999: 86-87; http://www.bach-cantatas.com/Vocal/BWV232-Rec6.htm

Robert King 1996 Orchestra: The King’s Consort


Continuo: organ

Choir: Tölzer Knabenchor, dir. Gerhard Schmidt-Gaden (soprano & alto); The Choir of the King’s Consort (tenor & bass)

Size: 7-7-9-6-615

Concertists (members of the Tölzer Knabenchor):

Sopranos: Matthias Ritter (Christe, Domine deus, Et in unum); Manuel Mrasek (Christe, Laudamus, Qui sedes)

Altos: Matthias Schloderer (Et in unum); Maximilian Fraas (Agnus dei)

Soloists:



Location of recording: 27 September – 2 October 1996

First catalogue number: Hyperion CDA67201/2. 2 CDs. Issued 1997.

Annotation: Robert King



- 354 -

Thomas Hengelbrock 1996 Orchestra: Freiburger Barockorchester

Continuo: organ


Choir: Balthasar-Neumann-Chor

Size: 6-5-6-5-516

Concertists:

Sopranos: Gundula Anders (Christe); Mona Spägele (Laudamus); Ursula Fiedler (Domine deus, Et in unum)

Altos: Jürgen Bahnholzer (Qui sedes, Et in unum); Bernhard Landauer (Christe)

Tenors: Hermann Oswald (Domine deus); Knut Schoch (Benedictus)

Basses: Johannes Happel (Et in spiritum); Stephan McLeod (Quoniam)

Location and date of recording: Evangelische Kirche Gönningen; 4-10 October 1996

First catalogue number: Deutsche Harmonia Mundi 05472 77380 2. 2 CDs. Issued 1997.

Annotation: Jens Markowsky, Thomas Hengelbrock

Special comments: This performance was prepared in conjunction with staged performances of the B minor Mass given at the 1996 Schwetzingen Festival and at the City of Bonn Opera House by the Freyer Ensemble. The choreography was prepared jointly by Achim Freyer and Thomas Hengelbrock. The production was staged and broadcast, but I have not been able to obtain a copy.

16 The booklet names 11 sopranos; I assumed a larger first soprano section.

- 355 -

~ Sigiswald Kuijken 1997 Orchestra: La Petite Bande

Choir: Namur Chamber Choir

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Greta de Reyghere

Soprano 2: Marijke van Arnhem

Alto: James Bowman

Tenor: Jean-Paul Fouchécourt

Bass: Geert Smits

Location and date of recording: De Singel Concert Hall, Antwerp, Belgium; March 24, 1997


~ Joshua Rifkin 1997 Orchestra: The Bach Ensemble

Continuo: organ

Concertists:

Soprano 1: Susanne Rydén

Soprano 2: Tone M. Wik

Altos: Steven Rickards, Andreas Schmidt (in Sanctus, Osanna & Dona nobis)

Tenors: John Elwes, Florian Mock (in Osanna & Dona Nobis)

Basses: Michael Schopper, Peter Tilch (in Osanna & Dona Nobis)

Location and date of recording: Regensburg Festival; 18 May, 1997 (live)

Special comments: A copy of a private recording of this performance was provided to me by Bernard Sherman, with kind permission from Joshua Rifkin.

- 356 -

Greg Funfgeld 1997 Orchestra: Bach Festival Orchestra

Continuo: organ17


Choir: Bach Choir of Bethlehem

Size (eight parts): 14-21-18-14-11-6-16-8

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Tamara Matthews

Soprano 2: Rosa Lamoreaux

Alto: Marietta Simpson

Tenor: Frederick Urrey

Baritone (Et in spiritum): William Sharp

Bass (Quoniam): Daniel Lichti

Location and date of recording: First Presbyterian Church, Bethlehem, Pennsylvania; May 1997

First catalogue number: Dorian DOR-90253. 2 CDs. Issued 1998.

Annotation: Robin Leaver

* Wolfgang Kläsener 1997 Orchestra: Berlin Baroque

Choir: Kettwiger Bach-Ensemble

Soloists:

Soprano: Leonore von Falkenhausen

Alto: Ursula Eittinger

Tenor: Christoph Wittmann

Bass: Thomas Bauer

Location and date of recording: Kreuzeskirche Essen; 15 June 1997 (live)

First catalogue number: Kettwiger Bach-Ensemble, no catalogue number. 2 CDs. Issued c. 1997.

Special comments: Information from http://www.bach-cantatas.com/Vocal/BWV232-Rec6.htm; http://www.kettwig.de/vereine/kettwiger-vokalmusik/index.html

17 The booklet names two organists – one on “organ”, one on “portative organ”. 18 The booklet names 11 violinists; I assumed a larger first violin section.


http://www.kettwig.de/vereine/kettwiger-vokalmusik/index.html

- 357 -

Diego Fasolis 1997

Orchestra: Sonatori de la Gioiosa Marca


Continuo: organ

Choir: Coro della Radio Svizzera

Size: 2-2-6-6-619

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Roberta Invernizzi

Soprano 2: Lynne Dawson

Alto: Gloria Banditelli


Bass: Klaus Mertens

Location and date of recording: Cattedrale di San Lorenzo, Lugano, Switzerland; June 3, 1997

First catalogue number: Arts Authentic 47525-2. 2 CDs. Issued 1998.

Annotation: Martina Hochreiter


- 358 -

~ Trevor Pinnock 1997 Orchestra: The English Concert

Choir: Choir of the English Concert


Soloists:

Soprano: Susan Chilcot

Alto: Catherine Wyn-Rogers


Bass: Gerald Finley

Location and date of recording: Royal Festival Hall, London; August 6, 1997


Joshard Daus 1998 Orchestra: Münchner Symphoniker


Choir: Bach-Ensemble der EuropaChorAkademie

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Hellen Kwon

Soprano 2 & Alto: Hedwig Fassbaender

Tenor: Peter Straka

Baritone (et in spiritum): Wolfgang Newerla

Bass (Quoniam): Peter Lika

Location and date of recording: Philharmonie im Gasteig, Munich; October 17, 1998 (live)

First catalogue number: Arte Nova Classics 47321 63632 2. 2 CDs. Issued 1998.

Annotation: Kerstin Siegrist

- 359 -

* Anders Öhrwall 1998 Orchestra: Drottningholm Baroque Ensemble

Choir: Stockholm Bach Choir

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Christina Högman

Soprano 2: Paula Hoffman

Alto: Paul Esswood

Tenor: Stefan Parkman

Bass: Lars Arvidson

Location and date of recording: Adolf Frederick Church, Stockholm; October 1998

First catalogue number: Swedish Society SCD 1092-93. 2 CDs. Issued c. 1998.

Special comments: Information from http://w1.864.telia.com/~u86410273/bachkoren/index-e.htm (the Stockholm Bach Choir’s website); http://www.jsbach.org/massohrwall.html; http://www.bach-cantatas.com/Vocal/BWV232-Rec6.htm.

* Helmut Winschermann 1998

Orchestra: Deutsche Bachsolisten

Choir: Okayama Bach Kantaten Verein (dir. Masatoshi Sasaki)

Soloists:

Soprano: Barbara Schlick

Alto: Bernhard Landauer

Tenor: Masatoshi Sasaki

Bass: Katsunori Kono

Location and date of recording: Japan; 22 November 1998 (live)

First catalogue number: Live Notes WWCC-7341/2. 2 CDs. Issued c. 1998.

Special comments: Information from http://www.bernhard-landauer.at/disco2.html (Bernhard Landauer’s website), http://www.bach-cantatas.com/Vocal/BWV232-Rec6.htm.

http://w1.864.telia.com/~u86410273/bachkoren/index-e.htm

http://www.jsbach.org/massohrwall.html


http://www.bernhard-landauer.at/disco2.html


- 360 -

Claudio Abbado 1999 Orchestra: Solisten der Berliner Philharmoniker


Continuo: organ

Choir: Swedish Radio Chorus (dir. Maria Wieslander)

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Véronique Gens

Soprano 2 & Alto: Anne Sofie von Otter

Tenor: Charles Workman

Bass 1 (Et in spiritum): Simon Keenlyside

Bass 2 (Quoniam): Franz-Josef Selig

Location and date of recording: Großes Festspielhaus, Salzburg; March 29 and April 4 1999 (live)

First catalogue number: Universal 109 374-2. 2 CDs. Issued 2002.

Annotation: Klemens Hippel

Special comments: This recording has not yet been commercially issued. The CDs were distributed to patrons of the Salzburg Easter Festival. I obtained my copy through the Salzburg Festival Press Office.

- 361 -

Helmuth Rilling 1999 Orchestra: Bach-Collegium Stuttgart


Continuo: organ


Size: 6-6-6-6-6

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Sibylla Rubens

Soprano 2: Juliane Banse

Alto: Ingeborg Danz

Tenor: James Taylor

Bass 1 (Et in spiritum): Andreas Schmidt

Bass 2 (Quoniam): Thomas Quasthoff

Location and date of recording: Stadthalle Sindelfingen; March 1999

First catalogue number: Hänssler Edition Bachakademie, vol. 70 (CD 92.070). 2 CDs. Issued 1999.

Annotation: Helmuth Rilling, Andreas Bomba

20 Rilling (1999: 28) cites this as the “maximum size”; “where suitable, we reduced the instrumentation to comply with the structure of a specific movement”.

- 362 -

Martin Pearlman 1999 Orchestra & Choir: Boston Baroque


Continuo: organ

Choir size: 4-4-8-6-621

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Nicole Heaston

Soprano 2: Theodora Hanslowe

Alto: Ellen Rabiner

Tenor: Mark Tucker

Bass: Nathan Berg

Location and date of recording: Mechanics Hall, Worcester, Massachusetts; May 16-19, 1999

First catalogue number: Telarc 2CD-80517. 2 CDs. Issued 2000.

Annotation: Martin Pearlman

* Michaela Prentl 1999 Orchestra: Barockorchester La Banda

Choir: Chorgemeinschaft St. Sebastian

Soloists:

Soprano: Marina Ulewicz

Alto: Martha Jane Howe

Tenor: Johannes Klügling

Bass: Christian Immler

Location and date of recording: St. Sebastian, Munich (?); December 5, 1999 (live)

First catalogue number: Chorgemeinschaft St. Sebastian CD 05. 2 CDs. Issued 2000.

Special comments: Information from http://www.bach-cantatas.com/Vocal/BWV232-Rec6.htm, http://www.chor-muenchen.de.



http://www.chor-muenchen.de

- 363 -

Georg Christoph Biller 2000 Orchestra: Gewandhaus Orchester Leipzig

Continuo: organ

Choir: Thomanerchor Leipzig

Soloists:

Soprano: Ruth Holton

Soprano 2 & Alto: Matthias Rexroth

Tenor: Christoph Genz

Bass: Klaus Mertens

Location and date of recording: Thomaskirche, Leipzig; 28 July 2000 (live)


Annotation: Georg Christoph Biller, Martin Petzoldt, Stefan Altner

Special comments: The recording, in a concert commemorating the 250th anniversary of Bach’s death, attempts to reconstruct a liturgical performance through the inclusion of “propers” for Whitsun used in Leipzig in Bach’s lifetime. Also available on DVD (Image Entertainment ID0667EIDVD).

* Enoch Zu Guttenberg 1999 Orchestra: Orchester de KlangVerwaltung München

Choir: Chorgemeinschaft Neubeuern

Soloists:

Soprano: Anna Korondi

Alto: Iris Vermillion

Tenor: Deon van der Walt

Baritone: Dietrich Henschel

Bass: Albert Dohmen

Location and date of recording: Wieskirche, Bavaria; 1999

First catalogue number: Arthaus Musik 100 116. DVD. Issued 1999.

- 364 -

Seiji Ozawa 2000 Orchestra: Saito Kinen Orchestra

Continuo: organ

Choir: Tokyo Opera Singers (dir. Peter Dijkstra)

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Barbara Bonney

Soprano 2 & Alto: Angelika Kirschlager


Bass: Alastair Miles

Location and date of recording: Naganoken Matsumoto Bunko Kaikan, Japan; 29 August – 4 September 2000


Annotation: Robin Golding

* Theodor Holthoff 2000

Orchestra: Kammerphilharmonie Kaiserpfalz

Choir: Domkantorei Paderborn

Soloists:

Soprano: Jutta Potthoff

Alto: Gerhild Romberger

Tenor: Michael Nowak

Bass: Ulf Bästlein

Location and date of recording: April 2000

First catalogue number: Musicom; no catalogue number or issue date supplied.

Special comments: Information from http://www.bach-cantatas.com/Vocal/BWV232-Rec6.htm


- 365 -

* Mark Mast 2000 Orchestra: L'arpa festante Barockorchester München

Choir: Studio Vocale Kalrsruhe (dir. Werner Pfaff)

Concertists drawn from the choir.

Location and date of recording: May 2000

First catalogue number: Triptychon 3003 00. 2 CDs. Issued 2002.

Special comments: Information from http://www.bach-cantatas.com/Vocal/BWV232-Rec6.htm; http://www.studio-vocale-karlsruhe.de/

* Takashi Uematsu 2002 Orchestra: Nagoya Bach Orchestra

Choir: Gifu Bach-Choir

Soloists:

Soprano: Sawako Ogino

Alto: Tamiko Ohashi

Tenor: Tohru Yuhba

Bass: Koichi Hayashi

Location and date of recording: Salamanca Hall, Gifu, Japan; 30 November, 2002

Special comments: Available for listening on the web; http://handel.ge.gifu-u.ac.jp/GBC/Live33_e.html


http://www.studio-vocale-karlsruhe.de/

http://handel.ge.gifu

- 366 -

Konrad Junghänel 2003 Orchestra: Cantus Cölln

Size: 2-1-1-1-122

Concertists:

Sopranos: Johanna Koslowsky (incl. Christe, Laudamus); Mechthild Bach (incl. Domine deus); Monika Mauch (incl. Et in unum); Susanne Rydén (incl. Christe)

Altos: Elisabeth Popien (incl. Qui sedes, Agnus dei); Henning Voss (incl. Et in unum)

Tenors: Hans-Jörg Mammel (incl. Benedictus); Wilfried Jochens (incl. Domine deus)

Basses: Stephan Schreckenberger (incl. Et in spiritum); Wolf-Matthias Friedrich (incl. Quoniam)

Location and date of recording: St. Osdag, Neustadt-Mandelsohn; February 2003

First catalogue number: Harmonia Mundi HMC 901813.14. 2 CDs. Issued 2003.

Annotation: Peter Wollny

* Ryuichi Higuchi 2003 Orchestra and choir: Chorus & Orchestra of the Bach Akademie Meiji Gakuin Tokyo

Soloists:

Soprano 1: Yukie Ohkura

Soprano 2: Michiko Hayashi

Alto: Chicko Teratani

Tenor: Jiro Takano

Bass: Tetsuya Uno

Date of recording: March 29, 2003

First catalogue number: BAMG 0004/0005. 2 CDs. Issued 2003.

Special comments: Information from http://www.bach-cantatas.com/Vocal/BWV232-Rec8.htm, http://www.bekkoame.ne.jp/~hippo/musik/title/bach_bwv232.html.



http://www.bekkoame.ne.jp/~hippo/musik/title/bach_bwv232.html

- 367 -

Section 2: Recordings of other works

In this section, I list all the Bach recordings (other than the Mass) cited in Part

One of the main text.

The previous section aimed to present the history of the Mass on record, and to

provide a reference list for the recordings I consulted. This section, on the other hand,

functions only as an aid to the reader of this dissertation, and makes no claim to

present a systematic corpus of recordings. Therefore, it is arranged by the chapters in

the dissertation where these recordings are cited or discussed.

Where the dissertation discusses a conductor’s overall approach to Bach, this

discography lists all his recordings of Bach’s vocal music I consulted. For all other

musicians, the discography lists only those recordings directly cited in the main text.

Fuller information on most of the recordings cited here – including names of

soloists and recording dates for individual cantatas – can be found on www.bach-

cantatas.com. By using the extensive discographies on that website, readers can judge

the extent to which the recordings I consulted are representative of the overall

discography for a given performer or work. The discographies on this site do not,

however, include catalogue numbers or dates of original release and re-issue.

All recordings are complete and in the original language, unless otherwise

indicated.

* * *

For chapter 2

Matthäus-Passion:

Harvard Glee Club & The Radcliffe Choral Society, Boston Symphony Orchestra/ Serge Koussevitzky. In English. Recorded 1937. 3 CDs; Rockport Records RR5012/4 (issued 2000).

Toonkonst Chor & Concertgebouw Orchestra, Amsterdam/ Willem Mengelberg. Abridged. Recorded 1939. 2 CDs; Philips Duo 462 871-2 (issued 1999).

Thomanerchor & Gewandhausorchester, Leipzig/ Günther Ramin. Abridged. Recorded 1941. 2 CDs; Preiser Records 90228 (issued 1994).

- 368 -

The Bach Choir, Jacques Orchestra/ Reginald Jacques. Abridged, in English. Recorded in 1947-1948. 3 CDs; Dutton Laboratories 2CDAX 2005 (issued 1999).

The Westminster Choir & Junior Choirs of the Pius X School of Liturgical Music, New York Philharmonic Orchestra/ Bruno Walter. Part 1, abridged; in English. Recorded 1943 or 1945. 2 CDs; Phonographe PH 5031/32 (issued 1995).1

Wiener Akademiechor, Wiener Symphoniker/ Hermann Scherchen. Recorded 1953. 3 CDs; Universal Millennium Classics UMD 80470 (issued 1998).

Wiener Sängerknaben, Wiener Singakademie, Wiener Philharmoniker/ Wilhelm Furtwängler. Abridged. Recorded 1954. 2 CDs; EMI 5 65509-2 (issued 1995).

Leith Hill Musical Festival Chorus and Orchestra/ Ralph Vaughan Williams. Abridged; in English. Recorded 1958. 2 CDs; Pearl GEMS 0079 (issued 2000).

Boys of Hampstead Parish Church Choir, Philharmonia Orchestra & Choir/ Otto Klemperer. Recorded 1961. 3 CDs; EMI CMS 7 63058 2 (issued 1989).

Boys’ Choir of the Church of the Transfiguration, The Collegiate Chorale, New York Philharmonic/ Leonard Bernstein. Abridged; in English. Recorded 1962. 2 CDs; Sony Classical SM2K 60727 (issued 1999).

Boys’ Chorus of St. Willibrord’s, Amsterdam; Netherlands Radio Chorus, Concertgebouw Orchestra/ Eugen Jochum. Recorded 1965. 3 CDs; Philips 420 900-2 (date of issue unspecified).

1 The Phonograph re-issue does not name the choir or the orchestra, and gives the recording date as 1943. Another re-issue, by Minerva, gives the date as April 1945, and provides the fuller details listed above. For more information, see http://www.geocities.com/walteriana76/BWrecordsB.htm and http://www.bach-cantatas.com/Vocal/BWV244-Walter.htm.

http://www.geocities.com/walteriana76/BWrecordsB.htm

http://www.bach-cantatas.com/Vocal/BWV244-Walter.htm

- 369 -

For chapter 3

1. Leipzig Thomaskantors

My discussion of the Leipzig school is based primarily on volumes 1-4 of Edel

Classic’s series “Bach Made in Germany” series (issued 1999). All recordings feature

the Thomanerchor and Gewandhaus Orchestra, Leipzig, unless otherwise indicated.2

Vol. 1: Günther Ramin (1940-1956)

Leipzig Classics 001800 2BC. 12 CDs:

Disc 1: Cantatas BWV 36, 65 (recorded 1952), 57 (recorded 1951).

Disc 2: Cantatas BWV 41 (recorded 1950), 73 (recorded 1954), 111 (recorded 1953).

Disc 3: Cantatas BWV 72 (recorded 1956), 144 (recorded 1952), 92 (Recorded 1954).


Disc 5: Cantatas BWV 12 (recorded 1947), 128 recorded 1953), 43 (recorded 1951).


Disc 7: Cantatas BWV 179 (recorded 1950), 137, 138 (recorded 1953).



Discs 10-11: Johannes-Passion (recorded 1954).

Disc 12: Organ works (BWV 565, 540, 545), played by Günther Ramin at the organ of the Thomaskirche (recorded 1948, 1950).

Vol. 2: Kurt Thomas (1956-1960)



Disc 2: Cantatas BWV 59, 51; Magnificat, BWV 243 (recorded 1959).

Disc 3: Cantatas BWV 54, 82, 56 (recorded 1959).


2 For details of Ramin’s recording of the Matthäus-Passion, see p. 367 above.

- 370 -

Disc 5: Motets, BWV 225-230 (recorded 1958-1959).

Discs 6-8: Weihnachts-Oratorium (recorded 1958).

Vol. 3: Erhard Mauersberger (1960-1972)

Leipzig Classics 001819 2 BC. 5 CDs:

Discs 1: Cantatas BWV 18, 62 (recorded 1967), 78 (recorded 1970).


Discs 3-5: Matthäus-Passion. Dresden Kreuzchor & Thomanerchor Leipzig, Gewandhaus Orchestra/ Rudolf Mauersberger (choruses), Erhard Mauersberger (arias). Recorded 1970.

Vol. 4: Hans-Joachim Rotzsch (1972-1991)


Disc 1 (with Neues Bachisches Collegium Musicum): Magnificat, BWV 243; Cantata BWV 10 (recorded 1978).

Disc 2 (with Neues Bachisches Collegium Musicum): Cantatas BWV 172, 68 (recorded 1981), 1 (recorded 1981-1983).

Disc 3 (with Neues Bachisches Collegium Musicum): Cantatas BWV 4, 184 (recorded 1981), 14 (recorded 1984).

Disc 4 (with Neues Bachisches Collegium Musicum): Cantatas BWV 137 (recorded 1981-1982), 21 (recorded 1981-1983).

Disc 5: Cantatas BWV 173a, 173 (recorded 1974), 26 (recorded 1977).

Disc 6: Cantatas BWV 29, 119 (recorded 1974).


Disc 8 (with Neues Bachisches Collegium Musicum): Cantatas BWV 140 (recorded 1981-1983), 61, 36 (recorded 1980-1981).

Disc 9 (with Neues Bachisches Collegium Musicum): Cantatas BWV 110 (recorded 1981-1983), 40, 71 (recorded 1980-1981).

Disc 10 (with Neues Bachisches Collegium Musicum): Cantatas BWV 79, 80 (recorded 1981-1982), 50 (recorded 1980-1981).

Disc 11: Cantata BWV 198 (recorded 1975).

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2. Karl Richter

Bach: Cantatas (Telefunken)

Cantatas BWV 137, 140: Münchener Bach-Chor, Members of the Orchestra of Münchener Staatsoper. Recorded 1957. Copy Consulted: Decca Eclipse re-issue, ECSR729 (issued 1973). “Mono recording electronically reprocessed to give stereo effect on stereo equipment”.

Cantatas BWV 67, 108, 127: Münchener Bach-Chor, Members of the Orchestra of the Münchener Staatsoper. Recorded 1958. Copy consulted: Teldec Das Alte Werk 9031-77614-2 (issued 1992).

Bach: Cantatas (Archiv)

Archiv Produktion 439 368-2 (issued 1993). 26 CDs.

This set encompasses most of the cantatas which Richter recorded for Archiv

Produktion. It is constructed around a cycle of cantatas arranged according to the

church year, which Richter began recording in July 1970 (Wörner 2001: 130). Earlier

recordings were inserted into liturgically appropriate slots. In two cases (BWV 51 and

BWV 26), the producers of the re-issue series omitted a recording made for the cycle,

and replaced it with an earlier recording. All recording feature the Münchener Bach-

Chor. Cantatas BWV 8, 45, 78, and 147 feature the Solistengemeinschaft der Bach-

Woche Ansbach; all others feature the Münchener Bach-Orchester.

The re-issued series is divided into five volumes, along the same lines as the

1970s LP series:

Vol. 1: Cantatas for Advent and Christmas, BWV 65, 124 (recorded 1967), 82 (recorded 1968), 61, 132, 63, 121, 64, 28, 171, 58, 13, 111, 81 (recorded 1970-1971). 4 CDs.

Vol. 2: Cantatas for Easter, BWV 108 (recorded 1967), 1, 4 (recorded 1968), 158 (recorded 1969), 92, 126, 23, 182, 6, 67, 14, 12, 87 (recorded 1973-1974). 5 CDs.

Vol. 3: Cantatas for Ascension Day, Whitsun and Trinity, BWV 147 (recorded 1961), 21 (recorded 1969), 11, 44, 34, 68, 175, 129, 39, 76, 135, 24, 30, 93, 10 (recorded 1973-1975). 6 CDs.

Vol. 4: Cantatas for Sundays after Trinity, BWV 45, 51, 8 (recorded 1959), 78 (recorded 1961), 199 (recorded 1971-1972), 9, 187, 178, 105, 102, 179, 137, 33, 17, 100, 27, 148 (recorded 1976-1978). 6 CDs.

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Vol. 5: Cantatas for Sundays after Trinity, BWV 55 (recorded 1959), 60 (recorded 1964), 26, 106 (recorded 1966), 56 (recorded 1969), 96, 5, 180, 38, 115, 139, 116, 70, 140, 130, 80 (recorded 1975-1978). 5 CDs.

Bach: Sacred Masterpieces

Archiv Produktion 463 701-2; issued 2000. 10 CDs:

Discs 1-3: Matthäus-Passion. Recorded 1958.

Discs 4-5: Johannes-Passion. Recorded 1964.

Discs 6-8: Weihnachts-Oratorium; Magnificat, BWV 243. Recorded 1965, 1961 (Magnificat).

Discs 9-10: Mass in B minor. See Discography, section 1, under “Richter 1969a” (p. 319 above).

Other recordings

Johannes-Passion. Recorded 1970 (Wörner 2001: 132). Film production for ZDF-Unitel (dir. Arne Arnbom). Copy consulted: Video recording from a 1990s ZDF broadcast. Further details on:


Matthäus-Passion. Recorded 1971 (Wörner 2001: 133). Film production for ZDF-Unitel (dir. Hugo Käch). Copy consulted: Video recording from a 1990s ZDF broadcast. Further details on: http://www.unitel.de/ucatalog/concert/61_2.htm.

Matthäus-Passion. Recorded 1978. 3 CDs; Archiv Produktion 413 613-2 (date of issue not listed).



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3. Helmuth Rilling

Early recordings

In the 1960s, Rilling recorded a number of cantatas, both sacred and secular, as

well as the Missae BWV 233-236. Of these, I consulted the following recordings of

secular cantatas. Unless otherwise indicated, these recordings feature the Figuralchor

of the Gedächtniskirche in Stuttgart (where Rilling served as Kantor from 1957 to

1988) and the Bach-Collegium Stuttgart. On the CD re-issues I consulted, the cantatas

were coupled with recordings of orchestral music, performed by the Deutsche

Bachsolisten directed from the oboe by Helmut Winschermann.

Cantata BWV 208 (recorded 1965). Cantate-Musicaphon M 51351 (issued 1995). Coupled with Oboe Concerto after BWV 1053 (recorded 1965).

Cantata BWV 201 (recorded 1966). Cantate-Musicaphon M 51352 (issued 1996). Coupled with Oboe d’Amore Concerto after BWV 1055 (recorded 1967).

Cantata BWV 215 (recorded 1966). Gächinger Kantorei, Figuralchor of the Gedächtniskirche in Stuttgart; Bach-Collegium Stuttgart. Cantate-Musicaphon M 51355 (issued 1998). Coupled with Sinfonias BWV 182/1, 75/8, 21/1, and 1040 (recorded 1966).

Cantata BWV 213 (recorded 1967). Cantate-Musicaphon M 51356 (issued 1995). Coupled with Harpsichord Concerto, BWV 1058 (with George Malcolm, harpsichord; recorded 1967).

The Complete cantatas

Rilling recorded Bach’s complete sacred cantatas, including the Oster-

Oratorium and Himmelfahrts-oratorium, between 1970 and 1984. The recordings

were originally issued by Claus Verlag. Most recordings featured the Gächinger

Kantorei and the Bach-Collegium Stuttgart. However, Rilling also employed three

additional choirs – the Figuralchor of the Gedächtniskirche in Stuttgart, the

Frankfurter Kantorei (founded in 1945 by Kurt Thomas, and directed by Rilling in

1969-1981), and the Indiana University Chamber Singers3 – and one additional

orchestra, the Württembergisches Kammerorchester Heilbronn.

3 This choir only appears in two cantatas (BWV 21 and 31), both recorded in 1976.

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In 1987-1992, Hänssler Verlag issued this series on 69 CDs. This re-issue also

incorporated the 1984 recording of the Weihnachts-Oratorium, originally recorded for

CBS. Discs were arranged, in part, according to the church year.

In 1999-2000, Hänssler incorporated Rilling’s cantata cycle into the Edition

Bachakademie; this Edition also included re-issues of the Claus Verlag Oster-

Oratorium and Himmelfahrts-Oratorium. The Weihnachts-Oratorium, however, was

newly recorded for the Edition, as were the complete secular cantatas.

From the older series, I consulted the following volumes:

Vols. 1-3: Weihnachts-Oratorium (recorded 1984). Hänssler 98.851-853.

Vol. 13: Cantatas BWV 4 (recorded 1980), 172 (with the Frankfurter Kantorei; recorded 1975), 85 (recorded 1980-1981). Hänssler 98.864.

Vol. 14: Cantatas BWV 21 (with the Indiana University Chamber Singers; recorded 1976), 93 (recorded 1979). Hänssler 98.865.

Vol. 15: Cantatas BWV 70 (recorded 1970, 1982), 131 (recorded 1975), 79 (recorded 1981). Hänssler 98.866.

Vol. 16: Cantatas BWV 61 (recorded 1974), 191 (recorded 1971), 1 (recorded 1980). Hänssler 98.867.

Vol. 31: Cantatas BWV 158 (recorded 1983), 67 (recorded 1978), 42 (recorded 1980-1981). Hänssler 98.882.

Vol. 56: BWV Cantatas 109 (recorded 1971, 1981), 38 (recorded 1980), 89 (recorded 1977). Hänssler 98.818.

Vol. 61: BWV Cantatas 36 (recorded 1980-1982), 63 (recorded 1971, 1981). Hänssler 98.823.

Vol. 68: BWV Cantatas 106 (recorded 1975), 198 (recorded 1983). Hänssler 98.830.

From the Edition Bachakademie, I consulted the following volumes:


Vol. 8: Cantatas BWV 23 (recorded 1977), 24-25 (recorded 1977-1978), 26 (recorded 1980). Hänssler 92.005.

Vol. 9: Cantatas BWV 27 (recorded 1982), 28 (recorded 1981-1982), 29 (with the Württembergisches Kammerorchester Heilbronn; recorded 1984). Hänssler 92.009.

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Vol. 16: Cantatas BWV 46 (recorded 1977-1978), 47 (recorded 1982), 48 (recorded 1973). Hänssler 92.016.

Vol. 25: Cantatas BWV 77 (recorded 1972, 1983), 78 (recorded 1978), 79 (recorded 1981). Hänssler 92.025.


Vol. 48: Cantatas BWV 156 (with the Figuralchor of the Gedächtniskirche, Stuttgart; recorded 1973), 157 (recorded 1982-1983), 158-159 (recorded 1983). Hänssler 92.048.

Vol. 51: Cantatas BWV 169 (with the Württembergisches Kammerorchester Heilbronn; recorded 1983), 170 (recorded 1982), 171 (with the Württembergisches Kammerorchester Heilbronn; recorded 1983). Hänssler 92.051.

Vol. 61: Cantata BWV 201 (recorded 1996). Hänssler 92.061.

Vol. 65: Cantatas BWV 208 (recorded 1996), 209 (recorded 1998). Hänssler 92.065.

Vol. 67: Cantatas BWV 212 (recorded 1996), 213 (recorded 1999). Hänssler 92.067.

Vol. 68: Cantatas BWV 214, 215 (recorded 1999). Hänssler 92.068.

Vol. 76: Weihnachts-Oratorium (recorded 1999-2000). 3 CDs. Hänssler 92.076.

Vol. 77: Oster-Oratorium (recorded 1980-1981); Himmelfahrts-Oratorium (with the Württembergisches Kammerorchester Heilbronn; recorded 1984). Hänssler 92.077.

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For chapter 4

1. Nikolaus Harnoncourt and Gustav Leonhardt

The Complete Cantatas

Nikolaus Harnoncourt and Gustav Leonhardt have jointly recorded Bach’s

complete sacred cantatas in 1971-1989 for Telefunken/Teldec’s Das Alte Werk label.

The complete set was issued on CD twice. The first series was issued in 1985-1989, in

45 sets (most of them consisting of two CDs each) which correspond exactly to the

original division into volumes. The second series is part of Teldec’s Bach 2000

edition, encompassing Bach’s complete works, though the set of cantatas is also

available separately. It consists of ten volumes, 6 CDs each. Individual discs are also

issued separately.

In both sets, the cantatas are arranged by BWV numbers. Thus, both sets

preserve the original order of recording and release, though the Bach 2000 set does

not preserve the original division into albums.

Throughout the set, Harnoncourt directs Concentus Musicus Wien, and

Leonhardt directs the Leonhardt-Consort. The participating choirs are (by order of

first appearance):

1. Wiener Sängerknaben and Chorus Viennensis (dir. Hans Gillesberger)

2. King’s College Choir, Cambridge (dir. David Willcocks)

3. Tölzer Knabenchor (dir. Gerhardt Schmidt-Gaden)

4. Knabenchor Hannover (dir. Heinz Hennig)

5. Collegium Vocale, Ghent (dir. Philippe Herreweghe)

In the course of my research, I consulted the complete set in its first CD version.

The details are listed below. The year is the year of original release. Catalogue

numbers refer to CD re-issues, as listed on the British Library’s copies and database.

Vol. 1: Cantatas BWV 1-4, dir. Harnoncourt (with choir 1). 2292-42497-2. 1971.

Vol. 2: Cantatas BWV 5-6, dir. Harnoncourt (with choir 1); Cantatas BWV 7-8, dir Leonhardt (with choir 2). 2292-42498-2. 1971.

Vol. 3. Cantatas BWV 9-10, dir. Leonhardt (with choir 2); Cantata BWV 11, dir Harnoncourt (with choir 1). 2292-42499-2. 1971.

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Vol. 4. Cantatas BWV 12, 14, 16, dir. Leonhardt (with choir 3); Cantata BWV 13, dir. Harnoncourt (with choir 1). 2292-42500-2. 1971.

Vol. 5. Cantatas BWV 17-20, dir. Harnoncourt (with choir 1). 2292-42501-2. 1971.

Vol. 6. Cantata BWV 21, dir. Harnoncourt (with choir 1); Cantatas BWV 22-23, dir. Leonhardt (with choir 3). 2292-42502-2. 1973.



Vol. 9. Cantatas BWV 31, 34, dir. Harnoncourt (with choir 1); Cantatas BWV 32-33, dir Leonhardt (with choir 4). 2292-42505-2. 1974.


Vol. 11. Cantatas BWV 39-40, dir. Leonhardt (with choir 4); Cantatas BWV 41-42, dir. Harnoncourt (with choir 1). 2292-42556-2. 1975.

Vol. 12. Cantatas BWV 43-44, dir. Harnoncourt (with choir 1); Cantatas BWV 45-46, dir. Leonhardt (with choir 4). 2292-42559-2. 1975.


Vol. 14. Cantatas BWV 51-52, 54-56, dir. Leonhardt (with choir 4). 2292-42422-2. 1976.


Vol. 16. Cantatas BWV 61-64, dir. Harnoncourt (with choir 3) 2292-42565-2. 1976.

Vol. 17. Cantatas BWV 65, 68, dir. Harnoncourt (with choir 3); Cantatas BWV 66-67, dir. Leonhardt (with choirs 4 and 5). 2292-42571-2. 1977.


Vol. 19. Cantatas BWV 73-75, dir. Leonhardt (with choirs 4 and 5). 2292-42573-2. 1977.

Vol. 20. Cantatas BWV 76, 78, dir. Harnoncourt (with choir 3); Cantatas BWV 77, 79, dir. Leonhardt (with choirs 4 and 5). 2292-42576-2. 1978.

Vol. 21. Cantatas BWV 80-83, dir. Harnoncourt (with choir 3).4 2292-42577-2. 1978.

Vol. 22. Cantatas BWV 84-87, dir. Harnoncourt (with choir 3); Cantatas BWV 88-90, dir. Leonhardt (with choirs 4 and 5). 2292-42578-2. 1979.

Vol. 23. Cantatas BWV 91-92, dir. Leonhardt (with choirs 4 and 5); Cantatas BWV 93-94, dir. Harnoncourt (with choir 3). 2292-42582-2. 1979.

4 Cantata 83, however, is included in a 1970 recording, with Choir 1.

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Vol. 24. Cantatas BWV 95-97, dir. Harnoncourt (with choir 3); Cantata BWV 98, dir. Leonhardt (with choirs 4 and 5). 2292-42583-2. 1979.

Vol. 25. Cantatas BWV 99, 101-102, dir. Harnoncourt (with choir 3); Cantata BWV 100, dir. Leonhardt (with choirs 4 and 5). 2292-42584-2. 1980.

Vol. 26. Cantatas BWV 103, 106, dir. Leonhardt (with choirs 4 and 5); Cantatas BWV 104-105, dir. Harnoncourt (with choir 3). 2292-42602-2. 1980.

Vol. 27. Cantata BWV 107, dir. Leonhardt (with choirs 4 and 5); Cantatas BWV 108-110, dir. Harnoncourt (with choir 3). 2292-42603-2. 1981.


Vol. 29. Cantatas BWV 115-116, 119, dir. Harnoncourt (with choir 3); Cantata BWV 117, dir. Leonhardt (with choirs 4 and 5). 2292-42608-2. 1981.


Vol. 31. Cantatas BWV 124-126, dir. Harnoncourt (with choir 3); Cantata BWV 127, dir. Leonhardt (with choirs 4 and 5). 2292-42615-2. 1982.

Vol. 32. Cantata BWV 128-129, dir. Leonhardt (with choirs 4 and 5); Cantatas BWV 130-131, dir. Harnoncourt (with choir 3). 2292-42617-2. 1983.

Vol. 33. Cantatas BWV 132-135, dir. Leonhardt (with choirs 4 and 5). 2292-42618-2. 1983.

Vol. 34. Cantatas BWV 136-139, dir Harnoncourt (with choir 3). 2292-42619-2. 1983.

Vol. 35. Cantatas BWV 140, 145-146, dir. Harnoncourt (with choir 3); Cantatas BWV 143-144, dir. Leonhardt (with choirs 4 and 5). 2292-42630-2. 1984.


Vol. 37. Cantata BWV 152-156, dir. Harnoncourt (with choir 3). 2292-42632-2. 1985.


Vol. 39. Cantatas BWV 164-166, dir. Leonhardt (with choirs 3 and 5); Cantatas BWV 167-169, dir. Harnoncourt (with choir 3) 2292426342. 1987.

Vol. 40. Cantata BWV 170, 172, dir. Leonhardt (with choirs 4 and 5); BWV 171, 173-174, dir. Harnoncourt (with choir 3). 2292-42635-2. 1987.


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Vol. 42. Cantatas BWV 180-181, 184, dir. Leonhardt (with choirs 4 and 5); Cantatas BWV 182-183, dir. Harnoncourt (with choir 3). 2292-42738-2. 1988.

Vol. 43. Cantatas BWV 185-186, 188, dir. Harnoncourt (with choir 3); Cantata BWV 187, dir. Leonhardt (with choirs 4 and 5). 2292-44179-2. 1989.

Vol. 44. Cantatas BWV 192, 194, dir. Harnoncourt (with choir 3); Cantata BWV 195, dir. Leonhardt (with choirs 4 and 5). 2292-44193-2. 1989.

Vol. 45. Cantatas BWV 196, 199, dir. Harnoncourt (with choir 3); Cantatas BWV 197-198, dir. Leonhardt (with choirs 4 and 5). 2292-44194-2. 1989.

Additionally, I consulted the following recordings:

Under Gustav Leonhardt

Cantatas BWV 54, 170; Agnus Dei from B minor Mass: Alfred Deller (alto), Leonhardt Baroque Ensemble. Recorded 1954. Vanguard Classics 08 5069 71 (issued 1994).

Cantatas BWV 51, 202, 209: Agnes Giebel (soprano), Concerto Amsterdam/ Jaap Schröder, Gustav Leonhardt.5 Recorded 1966. Teldec Das Alte Werk 3984-21711-2 (issued 1998).

Matthäus-Passion: Tölzer Knabenchor (dir. Gerhardt Schmidt-Gaden), La Petite Bande. Recorded 1989. 3 CDs; Deutsche Harmonia Mundi RD 77848 (issued 1990).

Cantatas BWV 205, 214: Choir and Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment. Recorded 1990. Philips 432 161-2 (issued 1992).

Oster-Oratorium, Himmelfahrts-Oratorium: Choir and Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment. Recorded 1993. Philips 442 119-2 (issued 1994).

Cantatas BWV 211, 213: Choir and Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment. Recorded 1994. Philips 442 779-2 (issued 1995).

Cantatas BWV 27, 34, 41: Tölzer Knabenchor (dir. Gerhardt Schmidt-Gaden), Baroque Orchestra.6 Recorded 1995. Sony SK 68 265 (issued 1996).

Mass, BWV 234; Cantatas BWV 115, 180: English Voices (dir. Timothy Brown), Steiniz Baroque Players. Recorded live at St. Bartholomew the Great Church, January 16, 1997. Radio 3 broadcast; BL shelf number: H8339.

5 Identity of director not clear. Jaap Schröder was the leader in these recordings, whilst Leonhardt played continuo harpsichord. 6 The members of this ensemble, listed in the booklet, have all played with the Leonhardt-Consort.

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Under Nikolaus Harnoncourt

All recordings feature Concentus Musicus Wien, and all were issued on Teldec

Das Alte Werk.

Johannes-Passion: Wiener Sängerknaben and Chorus Viennensis (dir. Hans Gillesberger). Recorded 1966. 2 CDs; 8.35018 (issued 1987).7

Matthäus-Passion: Regensburg Domchor (dir. Christoph Lickleder), King’s College Choir, Cambridge (dir. David Willcocks). Recorded 1970. 3 CDs; 2292-42509-2 (issued 1994).

Motets, BWV 225-230: Bachchor Stockholm (dir. Anders Öhrwall). Recorded 1980. 8.42663 (issued 1984).

Johannes-Passion: Arnold Schoenberg Chor (dir. Erwin Ortner). Recorded 1993. 2 CDs; 9031-74862-2 (issued 1995).

Matthäus-Passion: Wiener Sängerknaben (dir. Norbert Balatsch), Arnold Schoenberg Chor (dir. Erwin Ortner). Recorded 2000. 3 CDs; 8573-81036-2 (issued 2001).

2. Philippe Herreweghe

In the course of my research, I consulted most of Herreweghe’s Bach

recordings, as listed below; the most notable omission is his second recording of the

Johannes-Passion. The recordings are listed by chronological order. All recordings

feature one or both of Herreweghe’s two ensembles: the Collegium Vocale, Ghent and

the Chapelle Royale, Paris. The appearance of both names does not necessarily

indicate the presence of a larger ensemble; in most cases, the members of choir and

orchestra are listed under a joint heading, and the size of ensemble is similar to that

employed in both recordings of the Mass (see section 1 of this discography).

Matthäus-Passion: Choeur d’enfants “In Dulci Jubilo” (dir. Godfried Van de Vyvere), Chapelle Royale, Collegium Vocale. Recorded 1984. 3 CDs; Harmonia Mundi 901155.57 (issued 1985).

Motets, BWV 225-230: Chapelle Royale, Collegium Vocale. Recorded 1985. Issued 1986. Harmonia Mundi HMC 901231.

Johannes-Passion: Chapelle Royale, Collegium Vocale. Recorded 1987. First issued 1988. Harmonia Mundi HMX 2951264.65 (1999 re-issue).

7 On the original LP, Gillesberger was listed as the conductor (Elste 2000: 230).

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Cantatas BWV 78, 198: Chapelle Royale. Recorded 1987. Harmonia Mundi HMC 901270 (issued 1988).8

Weihnachts-Oratorium: Collegium Vocale. Recorded 1989. Virgin Veritas 7 90781 2 (issued 1989).

Missae BWV 234 & 235; Sanctus BWV 238: Collegium Vocale. Recorded 1989. Virgin Veritas 7 59587 2 (issued 1990).

Magnificat, BWV 243; Cantata BWV 80: Collegium Vocale. Recorded 1990. Harmonia Mundi HMC 901326 (issued 1990).

Cantatas BWV 21, 42: Chapelle Royale, Collegium Vocale. Recorded 1990. Harmonia Mundi HMC 901328 (issued 1990).

Cantates pour Basse, BWV 56, 82 and 158: Peter Kooy (bass), Chapelle Royale. Recorded 1991. Harmonia Mundi HMC 901365 (issued 1991).

Missae BWV 233 & 236: Collegium Vocale. Recorded 1990. Virgin Veritas 7 59634 2 (issued 1991).

Cantatas BWV 131, 73, 105: Collegium Vocale. Recorded 1990. Virgin Veritas 7 59237 2 (issued 1992).

Cantatas BWV 39, 93, 107: Collegium Vocale. Recorded 1991. Virgin Veritas 7 59320 2 (issued 1993).

Himmelfahrts-Oratorium; Cantatas BWV 43, 44: Collegium Vocale. Recorded 1993. Harmonia Mundi HMC 901479 (issued 1993).

Oster-Oratorium; Cantata BWV 66: Collegium Vocale. Recorded 1994. Harmonia Mundi HMC 901513 (issued 1995).

Weihnachts-Kantaten, BWV 57, 110, 122: Collegium Vocale. Recorded 1995. Harmonia Mundi HMC 901594 (issued 1996).

Advent-Kantaten, BWV 36, 61, 62: Collegium Vocale. Recorded 1996. Harmonia Mundi HMC 901605 (issued 1997).

Cantates pour Alto, BWV 35, 54, 170: Andreas Scholl (alto), Collegium Vocale. Recorded 1997. Harmonia Mundi HMC 901644 (issued 1998).

“Mit Fried und Freud” – Cantatas BWV 8, 125, 138: Collegium Vocale. Recorded 1998. Harmonia Mundi HMC 901659 (issued 1998).

Matthäus-Passion: Schola Cantorum Cantate Domino (dir. Michaël Ghljs), Collegium Vocale. Recorded 1998. 3 CDs; Harmonia Mundi HMC 951676.78 (issued 1999). Also includes a CD-ROM, featuring an in-depth introduction to the work and an interview with Herreweghe.

8 This recording of BWV 198 is also reproduced in the CDs accompanying Basso 1998.

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“Wir danken dir, Gott” – Cantatas BWV 29, 119, 120: Collegium Vocale. Recorded 1999. Harmonia Mundi HMC 901690 (issued 2000).

Leipziger Weihnachtskantaten, BWV 63, 91, 121, 133; Magnificat, BWV 243a: Collegium Vocale. Recorded 2001, 2002 (BWV 63, Magnificat). 2 CDs; Harmonia Mundi HMC 901781.82 (issued 2003).

3. Other recording cited

Matthäus-Passion: London Oratory Junior Choir (dir. Patrick Russill), Monteverdi Choir, English Baroque Soloists/ John Eliot Gardiner. Recorded 1988. 3 CDs; Archiv 427 648-2 (issued 1989).

For chapter 5

1. Joshua Rifkin

In all his Bach recordings, Joshua Rifkin directs the Bach Ensemble. The Decca

re-issues (third and fourth items below) are part of my personal collection. I also

consulted the original issues, insofar as these were available at the British Library, in

order to read Rifkin’s notes (Rifkin 1987, 1989a, 1989b, 1991).

Magnificat, BWV 243 (coupled with Melchior Hoffman’s Meine Seele erhebet den Herren). Recorded 1984. Pro Arte 185 (issued 1985).

Cantatas for solo soprano, BWV 202, 209. Julianne Baird (soprano). Recorded 1987. L’Oiseau-Lyre 421 424-2 (issued 1989).

Cantatas BWV 147, 80 (recorded 1985), 140, 51, 8, 78 (recorded 1986). 2 CDs; Double Decca 455 706-2 (issued 1997).

Actus Tragicus: Cantatas BWV 106, 131 (recorded 1985), 99 (recorded 1988), 56, 82, 158 (recorded 1989). 2 CDs; Double Decca 458 087-2 (issued 1998).

Three Weimar Cantatas, BWV 182, 12, 172. Recorded 1995-1996. Dorian DOR-93231 (issued 2001).

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2. Andrew Parrott

In all recordings, Andrew Parrott directs the Taverner Consort and Players.

Johannes-Passion. Recorded 1990. 2 CDs; Virgin Veritas VCD 5 45096-2 (issued 1995).

Magnificat, BWV 243, Himmelfahrts-Oratorium, Cantata BWV 50 (recorded 1989); Cantata BWV 4, Oster-Oratorium (recorded 1993). 2 CDs; Virgin Veritas 5-61647-2 (issued 1999).

Heart’s Solace: Cantata BWV 198, Motets BWV 227, 229. Recorded 1997. Sony Classical 01-060155-10.

3. Ton Koopman

In all the recordings listed below, Ton Koopman directs the Amsterdam

Baroque Choir and Orchestra, unless indicated otherwise.

Matthäus-Passion. Sacramentskoor Breda (dir. Walther Cantryn), De Nederlandsebachvereiniging (dir. Jos van Veldhoven). Recorded 1992. Erato 2292-45814-2 (issued 1993).

Ton Koopman conducts J.S. Bach. A TV series, in six episodes, featuring performances of Cantatas BWV 106, 131, 140, 147, 211 and 56, conducted and introduced by Ton Koopman. Recorded 1997. NVC Arts. Copy consulted: A video taping from Israeli Cable Television’s Channel 8.

Markus-Passion (reconstructed by Ton Koopman). Recorded 1999. Erato 8573-80221-2 (issued 2000).

The Complete cantata cycle

Koopman began recording Bach’s complete cantatas (sacred and secular) in

1995. The cycle was divided into three main groups: cantatas before Leipzig; secular

cantatas; Leipzig sacred cantatas. Within each group, the order is approximately

chronological.

The first 12 volumes, most of them consisting of 3 CDs each, were issued by

Erato. After Erato pulled out of the series, Koopman continued the project with

Antoine Marchand, a sub-label he created within Challenge Classics. Antoine

Marchand has also started re-issuing the first twelve volumes. The project is currently

nearing completion.

I consulted the following volumes:

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Vol. 1: Cantatas BWV 21, 131, 106, 196, 71, 150, 31 185, 4. Recorded 1995. Erato 4509-98536-2 (issued 1996).

Vol. 2: Cantatas BWV 12, 18, 61, 172, 132, 182, 152, 199, 203; Quodlibet, BWV 524. Recorded 1995. Erato 0630-12598-2 (issued 1996).

Vol. 6: Cantatas BWV 76, 75, 190, 179, 59, 69, 50, 186, 104, 69a, 50. Recorded 1997. Erato 3984-21629-2 (issued 1998).

Vol. 7: Cantatas BWV 25, 95, 144, 67, 24, 136, 184, 105, 148, 147, 181, 173. Recorded 1997. Erato 3984-23141-2 (issued 1998).

Vol. 8: Cantatas BWV 65, 89, 60, 83, 89a, 40, 46, 64, 167, 109, 81, 77, 90. Recorded 1998. Erato 3984-21629-2 (issued 1998).

Vol. 13: Cantatas BWV 1, 62, 96, 38, 93, 33, 133, 122, 92. Recorded 2000. Challenge Classics/Antoine Marchand CC72213 (issued 2003).

4. Other recordings cited9

Cantata BWV 106. In Deutsche Barock Kantaten, vol. VI: Trauerkantaten (coupled with works by Telemann, Boxberg and Riedel). Ricercar Consort. Recorded 1990. Ricercar RIC 079061 (year of release unspecified).

Cantata BWV 38 (with Capella Sancti Michaelis, dir. Erik Van Nevel), 131. In Deutsche Barock Kantaten, vol. VIII: Aus der Tiefe (coupled with other 17th- and 18th-century settings of Psalm 130 and related texts). Ricercar Consort. Recorded 1991. Ricercar RIC 103086/87 (year of release unspecified).

Epiphany Mass, as it might have been celebrated in St. Thomas, Leipzig, c. 1740 (including recordings of Bach’s Missa, BWV 233, and Cantatas, BWV 65 and 180). Reconstructed by Paul McCreesh and Robin Leaver. Congregational Choirs of Freiburg and Dresden, Gabrieli Consort and Players/ Paul McCreesh. Recorded 1997. Archiv Produktion 457 631-2 (issued 1998).

Lutheran Masses, vol. 1 (BWV 234, 235). The Purcell Quartet. Recorded 1998. Chandos Chaconne CHAN 0642 (issued 1999).

Lutheran Masses, vol. 2 (BWV 233, 236; coupled with an arrangement of the Organ Trio Sonata, BWV 529). The Purcell Quartet. Recorded 1999. Chandos Chaconne CHAN 0653 (issued 2000).

Cantatas BWV 9, 94, 187. La Petite Bande/ Sigiswald Kuijken. Recorded 1999. Deutsche Harmonia Mundi 05472 77528 2 (issued 2001).

“Actus Tragicus”: Cantatas BWV 4, 12, 106, 196. Cantus Cölln/ Konrad Junghänel. Recorded 2000. Harmonia Mundi HMC 901694 (issued 2000).

9 For recordings by Jeffrey Thomas cited in chapter 4, see the discography for chapter 5.

- 385 -

Christmas Cantatas, BWV 36, 132, 61; Instrumental Suite Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland, after BWV 699 & BWV 659 (arr. Mallon). Aradia Ensemble/ Kevin Mallon. Recorded 2000. Naxos 8.554825 (issued 2000).

Magnificat, BWV 243; Oster-Oratorium: Gabrieli Consort and Players/ Paul McCreesh. Recorded 2000. Archiv Produktion 469 531-2 (issued 2001).

For chapter 6

1. Jeffrey Thomas

In all his Bach recordings, Jeffrey Thomas directs the American Bach Soloists.

All his recordings were issued by Koch International Classics.

Matthäus-Passion. With the Paulist Boy Choristers of California. Recorded 1996. 3 CDs; 3-7424-2 (issued 2000).

Bach Transcriptions: Concerto for Four Harpsichords, BWV 1065, after Vivaldi’s Concerto for Four Violins, RV 580; Tilge, Höchster, meine Sünden, BWV 1083, after Pergolesi’s Stabat Mater. Recorded 1993. 3-7237-2 (issued 1995).

Bach Cantatas

Vol. 2: Cantatas BWV 156, 198, 8. Recorded 1992. 3-7163-2 (issued 1992).

Vol. 3: Cantatas BWV 106, 152, 161. Recorded 1993. 3-7164-2 (issued 1993).

Vol. 4: Early Cantatas from Mülhausen and Weimar: Cantatas for Holy Week, BWV 182, 131, 4. Recorded 1994. 3-7235-2 (issued 1995).

Vol. 5: Cantatas from Mülhausen and Weimar, BWV 18, 12, 61. Recorded 1994. 3-7332-2 (issued 1995).

2. Thomas Hengelbrock

Tilge, Höchster, meine Sünden, BWV 1083, after Pergolesi’s Stabat Mater. Balthasar-Neumann-Ensemble. Recorded 1998. Deutsche Harmonia Mundi 05472 77508 2 (issued 2000). Coupled with concerti by Alessandro Scarlatti and Francesco Durante.

- 386 -

Audio examples

CD 1: Examples for Part One

Gloria-Et in terra

1.-2. Richter 1961

3.-4. Harnoncourt 1986

5.-6. Herreweghe 1988

7.-8. Herreweghe 1996

9.-10. Koopman 1994

11.-12. Jeffrey Thomas 1992

Qui tollis (bars 1-27)

13. Rilling 1977

14. Rilling 1988

15. Rilling 1999

16. Hengelbrock 1996

Qui sedes (bars 56-end)

17. Rilling 1977

18. Rilling 1999

19. Harnoncourt 1968

20. Harnoncourt 1986

21. Herreweghe 1988

22. Herreweghe 1996

Sanctus (bars 1-48)

23. Herreweghe 1988

24. Herreweghe 1996


CD 2: Examples for chapter 7

All examples on this disc are from the First Kyrie.

1. Karajan 1952: bars 5-9

2. Karajan 1952: bars 30-34

3. Karajan 1952: bars 81-104

4. Jochum 1957: bars 5-9

5. Jochum 1957: bars 30-34

6. Jochum 1957: bars 81-end

7. Mauersberger 1958: bars 5-9



10. Richter 1961: bars 5-9

11. Richter 1961: bars 30-48

12. Richter 1961: bars 72-107

13. Schreier 1982: bars 5-9


15. Rifkin 1982: bars 81-107

16. Parrott 1984: bars 5-9

17. Parrott 1984: bars 30-53

18. Parrott 1984: bars 72-107

19. Gardiner 1985: bars 5-9

20. Gardiner 1985: bars 30-53

21. Leonhardt 1985: bars 5-9

22. Leonhardt 1985: bars 30-34

23. Harnoncourt 1986: bars 5-15



26. Herreweghe 1988: bars 5-9



29. Hickox 1992: bars 5-9

30. Hickox 1992: bars 30-34

31. Hickox 1992: bars 81-end

32. Jeffrey Thomas 1992: bars 1-4



35. Jacobs 1992: bars 81-end

36. Koopman 1994: bars 5-9

37. Koopman 1994: bars 30-36

38. Koopman 1994: bars 81-107




42. Hengelbrock 1996: bars 1-4




46. Rilling 1999: bars 81-107


This disc contains complete performances of the Second Kyrie.

1. Jochum 1957

2. Mauersberger 1958

3. Richter 1961

4. Rilling 1977

5. Rifkin 1982

6. Parrott 1984

7. Leonhardt 1985

8. Harnoncourt 1986

9. Hickox 1992

10. Jeffrey Thomas 1992

11. Jacobs 1992


13. Rilling 1999


This disc contains extracts from performances of the Incarnatus (bars 20-end),

Crucifixus (complete) and Resurrexit (bars 1-50).

1. Karajan 1952: Incarnatus

2. Karajan 1952: Crucifixus

3. Karajan 1952: Resurrexit

4. Mauersberger 1958: Incarnatus

5. Mauersberger 1958: Crucifixus

6. Mauersberger 1958: Resurrexit

7. Richter 1961: Crucifixus

8. Klemperer 1967: Crucifixus

9. Harnoncourt 1968: Crucifixus

10. Rilling 1977: Crucifixus

11. Rilling 1977: Resurrexit

12. Jochum 1980: Crucifixus

13. Rifkin 1982: Crucifixus

14. Parrott 1984: Crucifixus

15. Gardiner 1985: Crucifixus

16. Leonhardt 1985: Incarnatus

17. Leonhardt 1985: Crucifixus

18. Leonhardt 1985: Resurrexit

19. Harnoncourt 1986: Incarnatus

20. Harnoncourt 1986: Crucifixus

21. Harnoncourt 1986: Resurrexit

22. Herreweghe 1988: Crucifixus

23. Jeffrey Thomas 1992: Crucifixus

24. Jeffrey Thomas 1992: Resurrexit

25. Herreweghe 1996: Crucifixus

26. Hengelbrock 1996: Crucifixus

27. Hengelbrock 1996: Resurrexit

28. Rilling 1999: Crucifixus

29. Rilling 1999: Resurrexit

- 391 -

Timing Tables

Introductory comments

The tables and charts below list the lengths of complete movements in

recordings of the Mass. The first nine tables list the lengths of all movements in

performances of the Mass included within my core group. The last five tables list the

lengths of the movements discussed in Part Two in most of the recordings I consulted.

I omitted from the latter tables several non-commercial recordings which I

heard on video-taped format at the British Library, where I had doubts about the

reliability of my timing data.

In examining recordings on compact discs, I relied on the CD player’s displayed

timings. However, my timings aim to list the length of the actual performance, rather

than the length of the track (the difference between the two can sometimes extend to

10 seconds, though more commonly it is just 2-3 seconds). In reverberant recordings,

it was not always easy to determine the precise ending point of a movement, which

means that in some cases the movement might be 2-3 seconds shorter than indicated

in the tables.

In listening to recordings on LPs (a condition that applies only to Part Two

tables), I had to rely on a stopwatch, which might well have impaired the accuracy of

my data. However, I tried to listen to the relevant movements more than once, in order

to verify my data.

Due to considerations of space, I present the data for each Part Two table in two

charts rather than one.

- 392 -

Tables for chapter 2

Otto Klemperer 1961 1967

First Kyrie: Introduction 0:34 0:35

First Kyrie (b. 5 onwards) 12:45 13:04

Christe Eleison 6:02

Second Kyrie 4:15 4:12

Gloria 2:13 2:12

Et in terra 5:12 5:26

Laudamus 5:20

Gratias 3:08 3:13

Domine deus 6:33

Qui tollis 3:26

Qui sedes 6:16

Quoniam 5:50

Cum sancto Spiritu 4:52

Credo in unum deum 2:52 2:25

Credo/Patrem omnipotentem 2:14 2:08

Et in unum dominum 5:37

Et incarnatus 3:14 3:23

Crucifixus 4:30 4:50

Et resurrexit 4:56

Et in spiritum sanctum 6:58

Confiteor (up to the middle of bar 123) 4:08 4:14

Et expecto – adagio 1:13 2:09

Et expecto – Vivace e Allegro 2:41 2:34

Sanctus 3:26 3:18

Pleni sunt coeli 2:52 2:50

Osanna (first repeat) 3:36 3:16

Benedictus 5:38

Osanna (second repeat) 3:20

Agnus dei 6:27

Dona nobis pacem 3:23

Otto Klemperer

0:00

2:24

4:48

7:12

9:36

12:00

14:24

Kyrie 1

: Intro

ducti

on

Kyrie 1

(bb.

5ff)

Christe

Kyrie 2

Gloria

Et in te

rra

Lauda

mus

Gratias

Domine d

eus

Qui tol

lis

Qui se

des

Quoniam

Cum sa

nctoCred

o

Patrem

Et in un

um

Incarn

atus

Crucifix

us

Resurr

exit

Et in sp

iritum

Confite

or

Et exp

ecto (a

dagio)

Et exp

ecto (V

ivace)

Sanctu

s

Pleni su

nt co

eli

Osann

a

Bened

ictus

Osann

a

Agnus

dei

Dona n

obis

pacem

Klemperer 1961Klemperer 1967

- 394 -

Eugen Jochum 1957 1980



Christe Eleison 5:56 5:18


Gloria 2:09 2:03


Laudamus 5:13 4:44

Gratias 3:01 3:14

Domine deus 5:55 5:53

Qui tollis 4:11 3:37

Qui sedes 5:08 4:41

Quoniam 5:04 5:13

Cum sancto Spiritu 4:12 4:18



Et in unum dominum 5:26 5:08



Et resurrexit 4:26 4:18

Et in spiritum sanctum 6:19 6:35




Sanctus 3:20 3:29



Benedictus 4:49 4:57

Osanna (second repeat) 3:06 3:02

Agnus dei 5:53 5:44

Dona nobis pacem 3:07 3:11

Eugen Jochum

0:00

2:24

4:48

7:12

9:36

12:00

14:24

Kyrie 1

: Intro

ducti

on

Kyrie 1

(bb. 5

ff)

Christe

Kyrie 2

Gloria

Et in te

rra

Laudam

us

Gratias

Domine deus

Qui tollis

Qui se

des

Quonia

m

Cum sanc

toCredo

Patrem

Et in unu

m

Incarna

tus

Crucifixu

s

Resurre

xit

Et in sp

iritum

Confiteo

r

Et exp

ecto (a

dagio

)

Et exp

ecto (V

ivace

)

Sanctu

s

Pleni su

nt coe

li

Osann

a

Bened

ictus

Osann

a

Agnus

dei

Dona no

bis pa

cem

Jochum 1957Jochum 1980

- 396 -


Karl Richter 1961 1969 Video 1969 Live

First Kyrie: Introduction 0:45 0:37 0:38

First Kyrie (b. 5 onwards) 11:23 10:18 10:00

Christe Eleison 5:45 5:26 5:23

Second Kyrie 3:48 3:36 3:58

Gloria 2:00 2:00 2:03

Et in terra 4:45 5:04 4:57

Laudamus 4:28 4:44 4:25

Gratias 3:24 3:40 3:29

Domine deus 6:34 6:44 6:36

Qui tollis 3:59 3:47 3:19

Qui sedes 4:25 5:41 5:28

Quoniam 5:52 6:06 6:09

Cum sancto Spiritu 4:07 4:00 3:57

Credo in unum deum 2:38 2:22 2:10

Credo/Patrem omnipotentem 2:05 2:08 2:06

Et in unum dominum 5:26 5:32 4:54

Et incarnatus 3:38 3:55 3:35

Crucifixus 3:02 3:35 3:22

Et resurrexit 4:24 4:30 4:23

Et in spiritum sanctum 5:34 6:10 5:48

Confiteor (up to the middle of bar 123)3:00 3:00 3:00

Et expecto – adagio 2:05 2:02 1:53

Et expecto – Vivace e Allegro 2:12 2:10 2:08

Sanctus 3:18 3:43 3:35

Pleni sunt coeli 2:27 2:25 2:32

Osanna (first repeat) 2:51 3:05 3:16

Benedictus 4:55 5:51 6:00

Osanna (second repeat) 2:51 3:06 3:05

Agnus dei 6:33 6:50 5:58

Dona nobis pacem 3:20 3:43 3:45

Karl Richter

0:00

1:12

2:24

3:36

4:48

6:00

7:12

8:24

9:36

10:48

12:00

Kyrie 1

: Intro

ducti

on

Kyrie 1

(bb. 5

ff)

Christe

Kyrie 2

Gloria

Et in te

rra

Laudam

us

Gratias

Domine deus

Qui tollis

Qui se

des

Quonia

m

Cum sanc

toCredo

Patrem

Et in unu

m

Incarna

tus

Crucifixu

s

Resurre

xit

Et in sp

iritum

Confiteo

r

Et exp

ecto (a

dagio

)

Et exp

ecto (V

ivace

)

Sanctu

s

Pleni su

nt coe

li

Osann

a

Bened

ictus

Osann

a

Agnus

dei

Dona no

bis pa

cem

Richter 1961Richter 1969 (video)Richter 1969 (live)

- 398 -

Helmuth Rilling 1977 1988 1999

First Kyrie: Introduction 0:37 0:38 0:36

First Kyrie (b. 5 onwards) 11:45 10:36 10:22

Christe Eleison 5:50 5:22 4:58

Second Kyrie 4:11 3:42 4:14

Gloria 1:45 1:41 1:36

Et in terra 4:24 3:43 3:28

Laudamus 4:50 4:27 4:10

Gratias 2:59 2:42 2:44

Domine deus 6:45 6:25 5:59

Qui tollis 3:43 3:26 3:26

Qui sedes 6:33 4:42 4:48

Quoniam 5:48 4:40 4:58

Cum sancto Spiritu 4:08 3:54 3:50

Credo in unum deum 2:24 2:06 2:00

Credo/Patrem omnipotentem 2:18 1:56 1:48

Et in unum dominum 5:45 5:19 5:05

Et incarnatus 3:56 3:26 3:24

Crucifixus 4:02 3:54 4:00

Et resurrexit 4:11 3:56 3:50

Et in spiritum sanctum 6:16 4:58 4:38

Confiteor (up to the middle of bar 123) 3:36 2:58 2:55

Et expecto – adagio 2:25 1:51 1:59

Et expecto – Vivace e Allegro 2:14 2:11 2:05

Sanctus 3:21 3:07 3:15

Pleni sunt coeli 2:13 2:10 2:09

Osanna (first repeat) 2:44 2:36 2:27

Benedictus 5:47 5:36 5:03

Osanna (second repeat) 2:51 2:25 2:20

Agnus dei 6:45 5:35 5:41

Dona nobis pacem 3:42 3:18 3:05

Helmuth Rilling

0:00

2:24

4:48

7:12

9:36

12:00

14:24

Kyrie 1

: Intro

ducti

on

Kyrie 1

(bb.

5ff)

Christe

Kyrie 2

Gloria

Et in te

rra

Lauda

mus

Gratias

Domine d

eus

Qui tol

lis

Qui se

des

Quoniam

Cum sa

ncto

Credo

Patrem

Et in un

um

Incarn

atus

Crucifix

us

Resurr

exit

Et in sp

iritum

Confite

or

Et exp

ecto (a

dagio)

Et exp

ecto (V

ivace)

Sanctu

s

Pleni su

nt co

eli

Osann

a

Bened

ictus

Osann

a

Agnus

dei

Dona n

obis

pacem

Rilling 1977Rilling 1988Rilling 1999

- 400 -


Nikolaus Harnoncourt 1968 1986





Gloria 1:51 1:56


Laudamus 4:37 4:05

Gratias 2:50 2:35



Qui sedes 5:00 4:46

Quoniam 4:32 5:14












Sanctus 2:20 2:05





Agnus dei 4:44 5:13


Nikolaus Harnoncourt

0:00

1:12

2:24

3:36

4:48

6:00

7:12

8:24

9:36

10:48

Kyrie 1

: Intro

ducti

on

Kyrie 1

(bb.

5ff)

Christe

Kyrie 2

Gloria

Et in te

rra

Lauda

mus

Gratias

Domine d

eus

Qui tol

lis

Qui se

des

Quoniam

Cum sa

nctoCred

o

Patrem

Et in un

um

Incarn

atus

Crucifix

us

Resurr

exit

Et in sp

iritum

Confite

or

Et exp

ecto (a

dagio)

Et exp

ecto (V

ivace)

Sanctu

s

Pleni su

nt co

eli

Osann

a

Bened

ictus

Osann

a

Agnus

dei

Dona n

obis

pacem

Harnoncourt 1968Harnoncourt 1986

- 402 -

Philippe Herreweghe 1988 1996





Gloria 1:48 1:43


Laudamus 4:19 4:24

Gratias 2:28 2:36



Qui sedes 4:24 4:41

Quoniam 4:32 4:31












Sanctus 2:35 2:58





Agnus dei 5:23 6:24


Philippe Herreweghe

0:00

1:12

2:24

3:36

4:48

6:00

7:12

8:24

9:36

Kyrie 1

: Intro

ducti

on

Kyrie 1

(bb. 5

ff)

Christe

Kyrie 2

Gloria

Et in te

rra

Laudam

us

Gratias

Domine deus

Qui tollis

Qui se

des

Quonia

m

Cum sanc

toCredo

Patrem

Et in unu

m

Incarna

tus

Crucifixu

s

Resurre

xit

Et in sp

iritum

Confiteo

r

Et exp

ecto (a

dagio

)

Et exp

ecto (V

ivace

)

Sanctu

s

Pleni su

nt coe

li

Osann

a

Bened

ictus

Osann

a

Agnus

dei

Dona no

bis pa

cem

Herreweghe 1988Herreweghe 1996

- 404 -


Joshua Rifkin 1982 1997





Gloria 1:46 1:42


Laudamus 4:09 3:58

Gratias 2:52 2:50



Qui sedes 4:19 3:54

Quoniam 5:22 4:45










Et expecto -- adagio 1:29 1:18

Et expecto -- Vivace e Allegro 2:04 2:01

Sanctus 2:10 2:02





Agnus dei 4:53 4:49


Joshua Rifkin

0:00

1:12

2:24

3:36

4:48

6:00

7:12

8:24

9:36

10:48

Kyrie 1

: Intro

ducti

on

Kyrie 1

(bb. 5

ff)

Christe

Kyrie 2

Gloria

Et in te

rra

Laudam

us

Gratias

Domine deus

Qui tollis

Qui se

des

Quonia

m

Cum sanc

toCredo

Patrem

Et in unu

m

Incarna

tus

Crucifixu

s

Resurre

xit

Et in sp

iritum

Confiteo

r

Et exp

ecto (a

dagio

)

Et exp

ecto (V

ivace

)

Sanctu

s

Pleni su

nt coe

li

Osann

a

Bened

ictus

Osann

a

Agnus

dei

Dona no

bis pa

cem

Rifkin 1982Rifkin 1997

- 406 -

Andrew Parrott, Ton Koopman Parrott Koopman





Gloria 1:43 1:40


Laudamus 4:07 4:19

Gratias 2:52 2:50



Qui sedes 4:28 4:21

Quoniam 4:32 5:06










Et expecto -- adagio 0:54 1:15

Et expecto -- Vivace e Allegro 2:07 2:03

Sanctus 2:56 3:02





Agnus dei 4:30 5:18


Andrew Parrott & Ton Koopman

0:00

1:12

2:24

3:36

4:48

6:00

7:12

8:24

9:36

Kyrie 1

: Intro

ducti

on

Kyrie 1

(bb.

5ff)

Christe

Kyrie 2

Gloria

Et in te

rra

Lauda

mus

Gratias

Domine d

eus

Qui tol

lis

Qui se

des

Quoniam

Cum sa

ncto

Credo

Patrem

Et in un

um

Incarn

atus

Crucifix

us

Resurr

exit

Et in sp

iritum

Confite

or

Et exp

ecto (a

dagio)

Et exp

ecto (V

ivace)

Sanctu

s

Pleni su

nt co

eli

Osann

a

Bened

ictus

Osann

a

Agnus

dei

Dona n

obis

pacem

ParrottKoopman

- 408 -

Table for chapter 6

Jeffrey Thomas, Thomas Hengelbrock Thomas Hengelbrock





Gloria 1:47 1:37


Laudamus 4:10 4:09

Gratias 2:39 3:06



Qui sedes 4:25 5:08

Quoniam 4:24 4:38












Sanctus 3:36 3:11





Agnus dei 6:15 5:37


Jeffrey Thomas & Thomas Hengelbrock

0:00

1:12

2:24

3:36

4:48

6:00

7:12

8:24

9:36

10:48

12:00

Kyrie 1

: Intro

ducti

on

Kyrie 1

(bb.

5ff)

Christe

Kyrie 2

Gloria

Et in te

rra

Lauda

mus

Gratias

Domine d

eus

Qui tol

lis

Qui se

des

Quoniam

Cum sa

ncto

Credo

Patrem

Et in un

um

Incarn

atus

Crucifix

us

Resurr

exit

Et in sp

iritum

Confite

or

Et exp

ecto (a

dagio)

Et exp

ecto (V

ivace)

Sanctu

s

Pleni su

nt co

eli

Osann

a

Bened

ictus

Osann

a

Agnus

dei

Dona n

obis

pacem

ThomasHengelbrock

- 410 -

Table for chapter 7: First Kyrie Conductor Year Duration

Coates 1929 11:22

Shaw 1947 10:04

Ramin 1950 10:05

Scherchen 1950 15:18

Enescu 1951 10:19

Karajan 1952 11:25

Lehmann 1953 11:42

Kurt Thomas 1955 10:15

Jochum 1957 12:04

Mauersberger 1958 10:17

Grischkat 1959 10:28

Scherchen 1959 14:05

Shaw 1960 11:16

Richter 1961 11:23

Klemperer 1961 12:45

Ormandy 1962 11:07

Horst 1964 9:46

Maazel 1965 10:08

Klemperer 1967 13:04

Harnoncourt 1968 8:12

Richter video 1969 10:18

Richter 1969 10:01

Münchinger 1970 9:10

Giulini 1972 10:19

Karajan 1974 11:05

Somary 1974 11:40

Rilling 1977 11:45

Marriner 1977 9:43

Corboz 1979 10:21

Jochum 1980 11:23

Schreier 1982 8:00

Rifkin 1982 9:08

Parrott 1984 8:35

Gardiner 1985 8:49

- 411 -

Conductor Year Duration

Leonhardt 1985 8:47


Herreweghe 1988 8:41

Rilling 1988 10:36

Straube 1988 9:29

Brüggen 1989 8:20

Eby 1990 9:34

Solti 1990 9:32

Shaw 1990 9:41

Ortner 1990 8:28

Schreier 1991 8:31

Brembeck 1992 8:56

Schneidt 1992 9:24

Hickox 1992 8:53

Max 1992 8:39

Jeffrey Thomas 1992 9:52

Jacobs 1992 9:31

Ericson 1992 8:56

Koopman 1994 8:09

Christophers 1994 8:17

Giulini 1994 10:23

Beringer 1994 8:40

Redel 1995 9:32

Radu 1995 8:20

Hengelbrock 1996 10:39

King 1996 9:27


Rifkin 1997 9:11

Funfgeld 1997 8:41

Fasolis 1997 8:40

Daus 1998 10:58

Abbado 1999 9:04

Rilling 1999 10:22

Pearlman 1999 8:51

Biller 2000 8:50

Ozawa 2000 8:50

Junghänel 2003 8:50

First Kyrie, 1929-1980

0:00

2:24

4:48

7:12

9:36

12:00

14:24

16:48

Coates

Shaw

Ramin

Scherch

en

Enesc

u

Karajan

Lehman

n

Kurt Tho

mas

Joch

um

Mauers

berger

Grisch

kat

Scherch

enSha

w

Richter

Klemperer

Orman

dyHors

t

Maaze

l

Klemperer

Harnon

court

Richter v

ideo

Richter

Münch

inger

Giulini

Karajan

Somary

Rilling

Marriner

Corboz

Joch

um

First Kyrie, 1981-2003

0:00

1:12

2:24

3:36

4:48

6:00

7:12

8:24

9:36

10:48

12:00

Schreier

Rifkin

Parrott

Gardiner

Leonhardt

Harnoncourt

Herreweghe

Rilling

Straube

Brügge

nEby

SoltiShaw

Ortner

Schreier

Brembeck

Schneidt

Hickox

Max

Jeffr

ey Thomas

Jaco

bs

Ericso

n

Koopman

Christophers

Giulini

Beringer

RedelRadu

HengelbrockKing

Herreweghe

Rifkin

Funfgeld

FasolisDaus

AbbadoRilli

ng

Pearlman

Biller

Ozawa

Junghä

nel

- 414 -

Table for chapter 8: Second Kyrie Conductor Year Duration

Coates 1929 4:00

Shaw 1947 4:30

Ramin 1950 4:26

Scherchen 1950 4:45

Enescu 1951 4:40

Karajan 1952 3:15

Lehmann 1953 4:38


Jochum 1957 3:57


Grischkat 1959 4:37

Scherchen 1959 5:20

Shaw 1960 4:44

Richter 1961 3:52

Klemperer 1961 4:15

Ormandy 1962 4:24

Horst 1964 4:12

Maazel 1965 5:04

Klemperer 1967 4:12



Richter 1969 3:58


Giulini 1972 3:44

Karajan 1974 3:13

Somary 1974 2:35

Rilling 1977 4:11

Marriner 1977 4:02

Corboz 1979 4:14

Jochum 1980 3:38

Schreier 1982 3:02

Rifkin 1982 3:25

Parrott 1984 3:12

Gardiner 1985 3:25

Leonhardt 1985 4:06

- 415 -




Rilling 1988 3:42

Straube 1988 4:00

Brüggen 1989 3:48

Eby 1990 2:47

Solti 1990 3:46

Shaw 1990 4:24

Ortner 1990 2:30

Schreier 1991 3:10

Brembeck 1992 2:49

Schneidt 1992 4:22

Hickox 1992 3:13

Max 1992 3:42


Jacobs 1992 4:12

Ericson 1992 3:27

Koopman 1994 3:39


Giulini 1994 4:19

Beringer 1994 3:15

Redel 1995 3:50

Radu 1995 2:14


King 1996 3:40


Rifkin 1997 3:10

Funfgeld 1997 3:50

Fasolis 1997 3:56

Daus 1998 3:54

Abbado 1999 3:34

Rilling 1999 4:14

Pearlman 1999 3:01

Biller 2000 3:08

Ozawa 2000 3:08


Second Kyrie, 1929-1980

0:00

1:12

2:24

3:36

4:48

6:00

Coates

Shaw

Ramin

Scherch

en

Enesc

u

Karajan

Lehman

n

Kurt Tho

mas

Joch

um

Mauers

berger

Grisch

kat

Scherch

enSha

w

Richter

Klemperer

Orman

dyHors

t

Maaze

l

Klemperer

Harnon

court

Richter v

ideo

Richter

Münch

inger

Giulini

Karajan

Somary

Rilling

Marriner

Corboz

Joch

um

Second Kyrie, 1981-2003

0:00

0:28

0:57

1:26

1:55

2:24

2:52

3:21

3:50

4:19

4:48

Schrei

erRifk

in

Parrott

Gardiner

Leonh

ardt

Harnon

court

Herrew

egheRilli

ng

Straub

e

Brügge

nEby Solt

iSha

wOrtn

er

Schrei

er

Brembe

ck

Schneid

t

Hickox

Max

Jeffr

ey Tho

mas

Jaco

bs

Ericso

n

Koopm

an

Christo

phers

Giulini

Beringe

rRed

elRad

u

Herrew

eghe

King

Henge

lbroc

kRifk

in

Funfge

ld

Fasoli

sDau

s

Abbad

oRilli

ng

Pearlm

anBille

r

Ozawa

Jung

häne

l

- 418 -


Incarnatus Conductor Year Duration

Coates 1929 3:31

Shaw 1947 2:56

Scherchen 1950 3:28

Enescu 1951 3:38

Karajan 1952 4:04

Lehmann 1953 3:57


Jochum 1957 4:28


Grischkat 1959 3:29

Scherchen 1959 4:25

Shaw 1960 3:57

Richter 1961 3:38

Klemperer 1961 3:14

Ormandy 1962 4:21

Horst 1964 3:55

Maazel 1965 3:28

Klemperer 1967 3:23



Richter 1969 3:35


Giulini 1972 3:28

Karajan 1974 4:00

Somary 1974 3:45

Rilling 1977 3:56

Marriner 1977 3:46

Corboz 1979 4:03

Jochum 1980 4:25

Schreier 1982 3:14

Rifkin 1982 2:26

Parrott 1984 3:00

Gardiner 1985 3:24

- 419 -


Leonhardt 1985 3:13



Rilling 1988 3:26

Straube 1988 3:32

Brüggen 1989 3:04

Eby 1990 3:08

Solti 1990 3:32

Shaw 1990 3:12

Ortner 1990 2:39

Schreier 1991 2:56

Brembeck 1992 2:48

Schneidt 1992 2:39

Hickox 1992 4:11

Max 1992 3:25


Jacobs 1992 2:35

Ericson 1992 2:32

Koopman 1994 3:21


Giulini 1994 3:32

Beringer 1994 3:10

Redel 1995 3:22

Radu 1995 3:09


King 1996 3:02


Rifkin 1997 2:26

Funfgeld 1997 2:47

Fasolis 1997 2:45

Daus 1998 3:51

Abbado 1999 3:28

Rilling 1999 3:31

Pearlman 1999 2:56

Biller 2000 2:48

Ozawa 2000 3:15


Incarnatus, 1929-1980

0:00

0:28

0:57

1:26

1:55

2:24

2:52

3:21

3:50

4:19

4:48

Coates

Shaw

Scherch

en

Enesc

u

Karajan

Lehman

n

Kurt Tho

mas

Joch

um

Mauers

berger

Grisch

kat

Scherch

enSha

w

Richter

Klemperer

Orman

dyHors

t

Maaze

l

Klemperer

Harnon

court

Richter v

ideo

Richter

Münch

inger

Giulini

Karajan

Somary

Rilling

Marriner

Corboz

Joch

um

Incarnatus, 1981-2003

0:00

0:28

0:57

1:26

1:55

2:24

2:52

3:21

3:50

4:19

4:48

Schrei

erRifk

in

Parrott

Gardiner

Leonha

rdt

Harnonco

urt

Herrewegh

eRilli

ng

Straube

Brüggen Eby Solt

iSha

wOrtn

er

Schrei

er

Brembe

ck

Schneidt

Hickox Max

Jeffr

ey Thom

as

Jaco

bs

Ericso

n

Koopm

an

Christophe

rsGiul

ini

Bering

erRede

lRadu

Herrewegh

eKing

Hengelb

rockRifk

in

Funfgeld

Fasolis

Daus

Abbad

oRilli

ng

Pearlm

anBille

r

Ozawa

Jungh

änel

- 422 -

Crucifixus Conductor Year Duration

Bairstow 1926 3:56 (final chord clipped)

Coates 1929 4:06

Shaw 1947 4:38

Scherchen 1950 4:41

Enescu 1951 4:32

Karajan 1952 2:44

Lehmann 1953 4:36


Jochum 1957 4:44


Grischkat 1959 4:05

Scherchen 1959 5:07

Shaw 1960 5:39

Richter 1961 3:02

Klemperer 1961 4:30

Ormandy 1962 5:00

Horst 1964 3:56

Maazel 1965 4:04

Klemperer 1967 4:50


Richter (video) 1969 3:35

Richter 1969 3:22


Giulini 1972 2:40

Karajan 1974 2:40

Somary 1974 4:38

Rilling 1977 4:02

Marriner 1977 3:42

Corboz 1979 4:42

Jochum 1980 4:15

Schreier 1982 2:29

Rifkin 1982 3:17

Parrott 1984 3:20

Gardiner 1985 3:04

Leonhardt 1985 2:48


- 423 -



Rilling 1988 3:54

Straube 1988 2:12

Brüggen 1989 2:57

Eby 1990 2:45

Solti 1990 3:02

Shaw 1990 5:22

Ortner 1990 2:49

Schreier 1991 2:51

Brembeck 1992 3:01

Schneidt 1992 3:26

Hickox 1992 3:15

Max 1992 3:07


Jacobs 1992 3:15

Ericson 1992 2:41

Koopman 1994 3:09


Giulini 1994 2:44

Beringer 1994 2:28

Redel 1995 3:12

Radu 1995 3:08


King 1996 3:36


Rifkin 1997 3:34

Funfgeld 1997 2:54

Fasolis 1997 2:41

Daus 1998 3:49

Abbado 1999 3:17

Rilling 1999 4:00

Pearlman 1999 2:52

Biller 2000 2:29

Ozawa 2000 2:50


Crucifixus, 1926-1980

0:00

1:12

2:24

3:36

4:48

6:00

Bairsto

w

Coates

Shaw

Scherch

en

Enesc

u

Karajan

Lehman

n

Kurt Tho

mas

Joch

um

Mauers

berger

Grisch

kat

Scherch

enSha

w

Richter

Klemperer

Orman

dyHors

t

Maaze

l

Klemperer

Harnon

court

Richter (

video)

Richter

Münch

inger

Giulini

Karajan

Somary

Rilling

Marriner

Corboz

Joch

um

Crucifixus, 1981-2003

0:00

1:12

2:24

3:36

4:48

6:00

Schrei

erRifk

in

Parrott

Gardine

r

Leon

hardt

Harnon

court

Herrew

eghe

Rilling

Straub

e

Brügge

nEby Solt

iSha

wOrtn

er

Schrei

er

Brembe

ck

Schne

idt

Hickox Max

Jeffre

y Tho

mas

Jaco

bs

Ericso

n

Koopm

an

Christo

phers

Giulini

Bering

erRed

elRad

u

Herrew

eghe King

Henge

lbroc

kRifk

in

Funfg

eld

Faso

lisDau

s

Abbad

oRillin

g

Pearlm

anBille

r

Ozawa

Jung

häne

l

- 426 -

Resurrexit Conductor Year Duration

Coates 1929 4:15

Shaw 1947 4:56

Scherchen 1950 3:46

Enescu 1951 4:54

Karajan 1952 3:50

Lehmann 1953 4:34


Jochum 1957 4:26


Grischkat 1959 4:52

Scherchen 1959 3:55

Shaw 1960 4:21

Richter 1961 4:24

Ormandy 1962 4:29

Horst 1964 4:31

Maazel 1965 4:37

Klemperer 1967 4:56



Richter 1969 4:23


Giulini 1972 4:08

Karajan 1974 4:13

Somary 1974 4:45

Rilling 1977 4:11

Marriner 1977 4:06

Corboz 1979 4:18

Jochum 1980 4:18

Schreier 1982 4:22

Rifkin 1982 3:50

Parrott 1984 4:00

Gardiner 1985 3:44

Leonhardt 1985 3:58



Rilling 1988 3:56

- 427 -


Straube 1988 4:04

Brüggen 1989 3:40

Eby 1990 4:00

Solti 1990 3:58

Shaw 1990 4:21

Ortner 1990 3:52

Schreier 1991 4:06

Brembeck 1992 4:35

Schneidt 1992 3:49

Hickox 1992 3:54

Max 1992 3:52


Jacobs 1992 3:47

Ericson 1992 3:52

Koopman 1994 3:51


Giulini 1994 4:38

Beringer 1994 3:56

Redel 1995 5:08

Radu 1995 3:56


King 1996 3:46


Rifkin 1997 3:50

Funfgeld 1997 4:09

Fasolis 1997 3:36

Daus 1998 3:59

Abbado 1999 4:14

Rilling 1999 3:50

Pearlman 1999 3:40

Biller 2000 4:05

Ozawa 2000 3:45


Resurrexit, 1929-1980

0:00

1:12

2:24

3:36

4:48

6:00

Coates

Shaw

Scherc

hen

Enesc

u

Karajan

Lehm

ann

Kurt Tho

mas

Joch

um

Mauers

berge

r

Grisch

kat

Scherc

hen

Shaw

Richter

Orman

dyHors

t

Maaze

l

Klempe

rer

Harnon

court

Richter

video

Richter

Münc

hinge

r

Giulini

Karajan

Somary

Rilling

Marrine

r

Corboz

Joch

um

Resurrexit, 1981-2003

0:00

1:12

2:24

3:36

4:48

6:00

Schrei

erRifk

in

Parrott

Gardiner

Leonh

ardt

Harnon

court

Herrew

egheRilli

ng

Straub

e

Brügge

nEby Solt

iSha

wOrtn

er

Schrei

er

Brembe

ck

Schneid

t

Hickox

Max

Jeffr

ey Tho

mas

Jaco

bs

Ericso

n

Koopm

an

Christo

phers

Giulini

Beringe

rRed

elRad

u

Herrew

egheKing

Henge

lbroc

kRifk

in

Funfge

ld

Fasoli

sDau

s

Abbad

oRilli

ng

Pearlm

anBille

r

Ozawa

Jung

häne

l

- 430 -

Alphabetical list of recordings of the B minor Mass Each item on this list corresponds to a full item in the chronological

discography (pp. 298-366 above).

Claudio Abbado 1999

Anonymous c. 1955

Hermann Aschenbach 1976

Edward Bairstow 1926

Karl-Friedrich Beringer 1978

Karl-Friedrich Beringer 1994

Georg Christoph Biller 2000

Christian Brembeck 1992

Frans Brüggen 1989

Frans Brüggen 1995

Sergiu Celibidache c. 1990

Harry Christophers 1994

Albert Coates 1929

Michel Corboz 1972

Michel Corboz 1979

Michel Corboz 1996

Joshard Daus 1998

Anders Eby 1990

George Enescu 1951

Eric Ericsson 1992

Diego Fasolis 1997

Alfred Federerer 1953

Fritz Münch 1958

Greg Funfgeld 1997

John Eliot Gardiner 1985

John Eliot Gardiner 1989



Walter Goehr c. 1960

Hans Grischkat 1953

Hans Grischkat 1959

Enoch Zu Guttenberg c. 1999



- 431 -

Thomas Hengelbrock 1996



Richard Hickox 1992

Ryuichi Higuchi 2003

Theodor Holthoff 2000

Anthon van der Horst 1964

Alois Ickstadt 1987

René Jacobs 1992

Jeffrey Thomas 1992

Eugen Jochum 1957

Eugen Jochum 1980

Ifor Jones 1960

Konrad Junghänel 2003

Helmut Kahlhöfer 1985

Herbert von Karajan 1950




Gerald Kegelmann 1994

Robert King 1996

Wolfgang Kläsener 1997

Otto Klemperer 1961

Otto Klemperer 1967

Ton Koopman 1994

Zdeněk Košler 1994

Paul Kuentz 1995

Sigiswald Kuijken 1997

Kurt Thomas 1955

Fritz Lehmann 1953

Gustav Leonhardt 1985

Gustav Leonhardt 1989

Lorin Maazel 1965

Neville Marriner 1977

Joachim Carlos Martini 1984

Mark Mast 2000

Rudolf Mauersberger 1958

Hermann Max 1992

Nicholas McGegan 1996

Karl Münchinger 1970

- 432 -

Anders Öhrwall 1998

Eugene Ormandy 1962

Erwin Ortner 1990

Seiji Ozawa 2000

Andrew Parrott 1979

Andrew Parrott 1984

Martin Pearlman 1999

Trevor Pinnock 1997

Michaela Prentl 1999

Valentin Radu 1995

Günther Ramin 1950

Günther Ramin 1956

Kurt Redel c. 1995

Karl Richter 1961

Karl Richter 1968

Karl Richter 1969a

Karl Richter 1969b

Joshua Rifkin 1982

Joshua Rifkin 1997

Helmuth Rilling 1977

Helmuth Rilling 1988a

Helmuth Rilling 1988b

Helmuth Rilling 1999

Hermann Scherchen 1950

Hermann Scherchen 1959

Hanns-Martin Schneidt 1992

Peter Schreier 1982

Peter Schreier 1991

Robert Shaw 1947

Robert Shaw 1960

Robert Shaw 1962

Robert Shaw 1990

Georg Solti 1990

Johannes Somary 1974

Jörg Straube 1988

Takashi Uematsu 2002

Fritz Werner 1957

Helmut Winschermann 1998

Expression and Meaning in Bach Performance and Reception ...prominent Bach performers. Complete...

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